


Super Fade

by oceans4jinyoung



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Art, Drug Addiction, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Touring, previous suicide attempt, sober companion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 96,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: Global phenomenon JB is at the height of his fame when he overdoses on prescription drugs and gets sent to rehab.  Two weeks later, a barely sober Jaebeom is embarking on a world tour with a therapist and a sober companion at his side.  But when these two people start taking up very different but equally meaningful spaces inside his head, he knows this is about more than just staying clean. It’s about finding his reason(s) for living.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB, Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Choi Youngjae/Park Jinyoung, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 212
Kudos: 333





	1. Some Facility in the Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the **Spotify playlist** for this story.
> 
> [Super Fade](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2UZqVDDgXQm6DgUWiMNXiQ?si=eGhIvkfcTOu8ZGeiqbyBGA)
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung) and [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/oceans4jinyoung)!!

The shame of it all was that Jaebeom didn’t even remember it being a bad night. From what he remembers, it had been a really good night. The show had been loud and the crowd had been wild. And the after party had been private. With all the press outside the club, guarding their cameras from the rain, Jaebeom felt untouchable. There had been a girl on one arm in a tight skirt and a boy under the other with a see-through shirt who was pouring him another glass of something strong. And he could tell by how close they were that they were approximately two hours from ending up on a hotel bed with occupied hands and mouths and hips. And it was Tokyo. The Japanese drugs always felt different. Different between his teeth when he’d bite down on them before swallowing. Different when he began to feel them diffusing through his veins. They felt loud and fast and saccharine like they were made of candy and gasoline. And that’s exactly what Jaebeom had needed.

The shame wasn’t in the night but instead in the morning (or whatever time it was, he couldn’t tell) that came after. When he woke up in a hospital suite with no one in the room but Mark playing phone games in the corner. The high-pitched sounds like tiny hammers against Jaebeom’s sensitive eardrums.

He started to rouse. Feeling heavy. But not his usual pleasant heavy he got from the high. No, this was different. Like there was film over him and he was desperate to fight through it, but all his reactions were slow and exhausting. Draining him immediately to nothing.

“Mark,” he called as strongly as he could, but he could still hear how weak it sounded. And he became aware of how rough his throat felt and he thought there must have been more than a dick down it last night.

Mark’s eyes flicked over. He slowly got up from his spot, coming over to the edge of the bed. His face was harsh. His hands moving into the pockets of his jeans. His eyebrows creasing together. His eyes hard.

Jaebeom couldn’t take the look for too long. “Say something,” he said, hoarsely.

Mark sighed. His nostrils flaring. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

Jaebeom wanted to laugh but it was too hard. He tried to shrug but he wasn’t sure it came across. “Sorry, manager hyung,” he crooned with a smile pulling against his face.

Mark sighed again. He grabbed a chair from behind him and pulled it up to the edge, sitting down next to the bed. He leaned his forearms on the edge of the bed. “You’re getting released tonight,” he said, firmly. “And then it’s back to Korea. And now they are really gonna send you.”

Jaebeom’s smile fell and he tried to sit up, but it was clumsy and still so delayed and he noticed he had an IV in his arm only when he felt the sensation of it pulling. He winced at the sting, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “You told them I won’t go, right? They know. They must know,” he shook his head.

Mark rolled his eyes. “They don’t care,” he raised his voice slightly. “They have the contract. They have the authority. You’re going.”

Jaebeom saw how serious Mark’s eyes were. He sat back, defeated. He looked up at the hospital lights.

He thought it would have been better if he hadn’t woken up.

So that night, though his head still felt a bit hazy and his steps were still a little crooked, Jaebeom braved the airport full of photographers and reporters. Fought through their requests for comment. Their incessant questions. “Were you trying to end your life?” “Do you still plan to continue the tour?” He pushed the sunglasses up on his face and gave nothing but tight smiles as his bodyguard held them back the best he could. They were too close. Everything was too close and too loud. All the time.

The only thing getting him through was the thought of the pills he had somewhere in the depths of his backpack and it only took him about thirty seconds after finding his seat on the plane to fish them out. He held them between his teeth, savoring the moment. The moment before going down his throat. It always felt like being at the top of a roller coaster and knowing the rush was imminent. He tilted his head back and the pills descended along with a gulp of complimentary champagne, bringing with them the promise of a quiet mind.

When he looked back, Mark was giving him a look from across the aisle. His manager shook his head. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Jaebeom,” he sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “Those could be the last ones you’ll ever get.”

And Jaebeom couldn’t help but laugh. As if that could ever be true.

When they landed in Korea, the crowd at the airport was even worse. Flashes and shouting and everything all at once. And Jaebeom couldn’t help but be glad he took those pills. He pushed his hair away from his face and waved to the crowd. Bowing and thanking them. Their questions not even registering. Nothing could touch him. Everything felt different when he was riding the super fade.

They shuffled him into a van, not even stopping in Seoul but instead moving through the dark highways into the mountains. He hadn’t been sure if it was thirty minutes or three hours, because he was dozing in and out of sleep, but they arrived under the cover of night. And it was early summer. And everything was hot and humid as he got out, looking up at the building.

It looked like some countryside bed and breakfast. Warm and friendly from the outside but Jaebeom wasn’t fooled. He knew what was awaiting him wasn’t the kind of rest he wanted.

They checked him in. Took his things though he tried to protest. Made him change into some ill-fitting pajamas. Gave him a medical check. Shined a light into his eyes. Asked what he’d taken last. And he had just shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to,” he smiled.

They didn’t seem content with that answer, but they let him pass anyway. They guided him down long empty hallways that were so quiet that the step of his indoor shoes seemed to echo. They showed him to his room. It was simple like couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a hospital room or a hotel room so it managed to do both ineffectively. The expansive bed and tv juxtaposing against the call buttons and charts. He sat on the edge of the bed and though his mind was still hazy, he could hear the conversation outside.

“We strongly recommend eight to twelve weeks,” a man’s voice said calmly. Deep and soft and smooth. The way music sounded on rainy days.

“Well, he doesn’t have eight to twelve weeks,” Mark’s voice sounded tired and deflated. “He needs to leave for his tour in two.”

“Sir. You must understand. Giving him so little time is not setting him up for success.”

“Look,” Mark sighed. “If it was up to me, of course I would want what’s best for him. But it’s not. That decision was made above my pay grade. So either you do it or we find someplace else.”

And Jaebeom didn’t want to hear it anymore so he slipped his headphones on and laid back on the bed and put on that song that only sounded good when he was high and he didn’t even make it past the first chorus before he was taken by sleep.

\---

The next morning, they woke him up too early. Threw open his curtains and brought him breakfast in bed. He didn’t feel like eating. They gave him some pills. Told him they’d help with the detox. They weren’t the kind of pills Jaebeom wanted but he tried to take in the simple pleasure of feeling them between his teeth before letting them go down the hatch. Opening his mouth wide for the nurse to prove they’d gone.

“What’s on the agenda?” he asked, stretching out his back.

“You’re just gonna be trying to get through it,” the nurse said.

No more than an hour later, there was the small hint of a sweat breaking out across his hairline and he couldn’t shake it no matter what they gave him. “It’s starting,” the nurse said with a look of pity on her face when she handed him some more medicine. “Just let us know when it gets worse,” she told him. “And it will get worse.”

Jaebeom sighed and let those pills bite between his teeth, desperately trying to imagine them being something better.

“We’re going to send you to Dr. Park for a session,” she said, handing him a glass of water. “But let us know if you need to end early.”

Jaebeom gulped down the water. “Who the fuck is Dr. Park?”

The nurse looked back at him, her eyes sure. “Your therapist. You’ll like him.”

Jaebeom was led into the office. It was less sterile than the others had been. There was light streaming in. Overlooking the mountains. A desk, an expansive bookshelf, a couch and a chair. It looked so different from anything else at the facility that Jaebeom had to look back at the door and wonder if he had stepped into another reality.

A man stood at the bookshelf. Jaebeom weaved his eyes up him. He was young. Younger than anyone else he’d seen working there. His raven black hair painted against the nape of his neck. His ears stretched a little too far. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing forearms that pulled taut under the skin. His trousers were taut too, stretching against his backside as he reached above his head for a book, just enough to accent the unexpected curve of his body.

And Jaebeom’s gut felt warm and he realized that it was the first hit of testosterone he had since his night in Tokyo. He was relishing the feeling and noticing how strong it was despite the lack of inhibitors flowing through his veins.

But those thoughts stopped when the man turned around. And that’s when Jaebeom realized that his face was somehow even better than his body. If his body had been a mix of tight lines and soft curves, somehow his face was the same way. Eyes that shone warm brown when they caught the midday light from behind round glasses. A nose and lips that were round and full. Cheeks that looked soft but disappeared into a cutting jawline. And the sight seemed to circulate something alongside the testosterone though Jaebeom couldn’t place what it was.

“You’re late,” the man said, tossing the book against his desk before motioning towards the couch. “Have a seat.”

Jaebeom licked his lips and sat down. Suddenly feeling underdressed in his patient clothes compared to the doctor’s put togetherness.

Dr. Park leaned himself against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. And Jaebeom watched the way the tightness of his forearms was mirrored in the tightness of his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how firm it looked even from a distance. “So, you’re the idol,” he said, a little lilt of mocking in his tone. “Should I call you JB or Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom wondered how such sour words could come from such a sweet looking mouth. But he didn’t skip a beat. He threw one arm over the back of the couch, crossing his legs. His chest opening broadly, shifting quickly to accommodate whatever firing squad this guy had lined up for him. “You can call me whatever the fuck you want,” he smirked. “I’m more interested in what I should call you,” he leaned forward. “Honey. Sweetie. Baby. Good boy,” his eyes widened. “Oh, I think you look like a good boy.”

The therapist’s tongue darted into his cheek. A mix between amused and annoyed. “You’ll call me Dr. Park,” he said, his tone cutting.

“Oh,” Jaebeom raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

The doctor came and sat down in the chair in front of him. They were just far enough apart. Far enough to not try and simulate any kind of closeness. Jaebeom didn’t feel the need to hide his features from this distance. Not that he was in any place to hide anything.

“What brings you in?” Dr. Park opened a notepad, clicking a pen.

Jaebeom scoffed. “You must read.”

Dr. Park smirked. “Not tabloids.”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “I had too much fun in Tokyo. I have a world tour starting in two weeks. So, I’m on an ‘accelerated’ rehab stay. So that my company can keep me alive long enough to get a number one album.”

“So, it that their goal or yours?”

Jaebeom twisted his face. “Is there a difference?”

“Yes,” Dr. Park scribbled away before looking back up at him. “Do you like your job?”

He shrugged, “It allows me to do the things I like.”

“Like what?”

“Pretty people, expensive drugs, mostly,” Jaebeom cocked his eyebrow.

Dr. Park seemed unfazed. He scribbled again, not looking up when he asked. “And what about the music part?”

“A means to an end,” Jaebeom nodded.

“End of what?”

“The end of me,” Jaebeom shrugged.

Dr. Park looked up, stilled. His eyes hesitating. Waiting.

Jaebeom smiled before continuing. “That’s every artist's goal, right? To make it big and die at the climax on their career so they can be remembered forever. So that they aren’t stuck watching their ears and throats go as they churn out greatest hits albums until the last memory of them is a pictureless obituary buried in a corner of the newspaper that no one ever gets to before their train arrives. Because at the end of the day, no one was every remembered for going peacefully in their sleep.”

Dr. Park stared. “So, what’s the point of going through with rehab then?”

“Well, it would be pretty bad press for my company if I died and it looked like they didn’t try to intervene, right?” Jaebeom reasoned.

“So, the company is the only reason you’re here?”

Jaebeom laughed. “You’ll find I have no interest in staying sober,” he smiled. “Though this will make a cute scene in my biopic one day, don’t you think? Who do you think will play you? I could make a request. For my good boy.”

All he got in return were dark eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, though the tone and the way he shrugged his shoulders made it clear that he wasn’t. “Dr. Park.”

The therapist took a moment. He drew in a long breath before speaking. “I’m going to lay out a few ground rules for how we talk to each other in here,” he leaned forward. “One. I’m Dr. Park. That’s how you’ll address me.” He counted them out on fingers. “Two. We’re honest with each other. We don’t hide behind humor and sarcasm. Three. We maintain the same, shared goal. To get you clean and keep you clean.”

Jaebeom had a moment where he thought this might be a problem. But realistically, the man was just different than what he expected. And so, what? Jaebeom had a hot therapist. Big deal. Hot people were nothing new to him. The entertainment industry was full of them and they circulated around him like satellites. And contrary to Mark’s belief, he didn’t fuck everything that moved. He had standards. Though Dr. Park happened to be meeting a good number of them already.

But as Dr. Park’s eyes bore into him, he shelved the internal dialogue for a later date.

“I hope you enjoy a challenge, Dr. Park,” Jaebeom said, his mouth pulling up on one side.

“Rule four. No flirting.” Dr. Park’s eyes twinkled for a moment. A light that faded in an instant.

And Jaebeom wanted to chase it.

But the light was replaced with something else. A furrowing of brows that was slight enough to read as concern. “Are you okay?” the doctor asked.

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Park swallowed. “You’re shaking,” he shifted in his chair, getting a little closer.

Jaebeom started to feel it as soon as he said it. The trembling running through his shoulders and his arms, making his teeth chatter. He suddenly felt so cold and yet, that sweat on his hairline seemed to triple. “Fuck,” he murmured, curling together. “Is it cold in here?”

Dr. Park got up swiftly. “You’re detoxing. I’ll get the nurses.”

And the sight of Dr. Park racing for the door, leaving only a peek of his absolutely magnificent ass in his wake, was the last thing Jaebeom remembered before he fainted.

\---

When Jaebeom woke up, he was back in his bed. Layered in blankets. An IV in his arm. He huffed. He still felt so hazy. Like the fever had coated everything. He felt sick to his stomach. He pushed the blankets away, too hot.

The haze didn’t relent but instead had him shifting in and out. Always too hot or too cold. Pulling the blankets up or shoving them away. Always so nauseous. But at some point, he opened his eyes and noticed the light outside his window fading.

A nurse came into the room, changing his fluids and checking his temperature. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“How do I look like I’m feeling?” he croaked back, feeling the hair against his forehead soaked to the skin.

“Just try and get some rest,” she said, but with little soothing in her voice, before swiftly leaving him alone again.

And he tried, falling in and out of sleep mercilessly. His head spinning. His body fluctuating between hot and cold and back to hot again. His stomach churning like it was falling down an endless staircase.

But he must have fallen asleep eventually because he was awoken the next day by the same nurse when she grabbed his arm to check his blood pressure. He stirred, turning towards her touch.

“I’d ask if you want some breakfast,” she said. “But my guess is no.”

Jaebeom sighed. He shook his head. Too exhausted to manage a smart comeback.

The nurse pursed her lips. “I’ll be back in an hour to walk you to Dr. Park,” she said. “That will make you feel better.”

And Jaebeom didn’t say anything but he questioned whether that was true. If Dr. Park would really make him feel any better or if he would be just as cold and cutting as he was yesterday. He stared out the window, at the morning light flooding the mountains and distantly thought about how none of this would matter in a few weeks. When the tour was over and he could return to the comfort of his vices without the watchful eye of his company.

When the nurse came back, he was more awake. Still not feeling well but able to rouse himself and walk the long blank hallways to Dr. Park’s office. Noticing how he remembered the path despite only being there once before.

When he knocked, he heard a firm, “Come in” from the other side. He pushed open the door. Dr. Park was reading at his desk. That morning sun coming through the window behind him was on the precipice of turning midday yellow. It poured across his shoulders and through his dark hair, silhouetting him as he read. The doctor looked up. His brown eyes catching the light. “Our resident idol lives another day,” he sighed, closing the book and standing up.

Jaebeom stood in the doorway, watching him. Feeling that subtle warmth that dispelled the nausea for a moment. He licked his lips. “You sound disappointed.”

Dr. Park came around, leaning back against his desk. He crossed his arms over his tight chest. A subtle smirk smothered under the placidness of his expression. “Take a seat,” he offered.

Jaebeom came in, closing the door and sitting down on the couch.

Dr. Park took a seat across from him. “Have we sold you on sobriety yet?” he raised a brow.

Jaebeom felt the mocking in his tone. And it grinded against his feverish irritability. “If you’ve got a stash of something in that desk of yours, now would be the time to share,” he narrowed his eyes.

Dr. Park didn’t react. Instead he just pulled out his notepad, “You’ll feel better in a few more days,” he nodded.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Says the guy who probably has never detoxed from anything more than a whiskey sour,” he huffed. He went to rub at his temples, noticing a headache that didn’t seem to be there a minute ago. Wondering distantly if Dr. Park was the source of it.

Dr. Park looked back at him, features blank. “It’s my job to help people recover. You aren’t my first patient, you know.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. His soft and hard features. His stoniness. And though the way the doctor seemed to masterfully compose himself aged him, there was no doubt that he was young. “There’s no way you’ve been doing this long,” Jaebeom shook his head.

“Are you questioning my credentials?” Dr. Park looked back at him, a flick of a brow raised above the other.

“I’m just saying,” Jaebeom shrugged. “You look far too young to take yourself so seriously.”

Dr. Park worked his tongue into his cheek, annoyed. He flipped the pen between his fingers. “I’m twenty-five,” he finally said. “I completed my coursework early. I finished my residency this past spring. Specializing in addiction and recovery. I was the youngest person in my cohort, but I got the same degree as everyone else. That’s my doctorate on the wall.” He pointed behind him without looking.

Jaebeom’s eyes didn’t flick up to it but instead held onto Dr. Park’s. Thinking maybe he found a tender spot in the doctor’s collected exterior. Something about it making him want to push more. To see if he could unravel him.

“Do you want to call me hyung, doctor?” he leaned his chin into his hand. “I’ll let you.”

The doctor sighed under his breath. He took his pen and scratched a deep black mark into the notepad. “Can we talk about why you’re here?” he asked.

“What?” Jaebeom asked, fighting past the headache and the thoughts of Dr. Park.

“Your drug use,” Dr. Park said like it was obvious.

Jaebeom scoffed. “Is this how it goes?”

“What?”

“You have some piece of paper hung on the wall and you think it gives you free reign to pry into someone’s history with little more than names exchanged?”

“Jaebeom,” Dr. Park gritted his teeth. “You’re in rehab. What did you think you’d be doing here?”

“I don’t care,” Jaebeom seethed. The press of Dr. Park and the ache of his head spilling into his words and making them bitter. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to get clean. And I certainly don’t want to talk to some uppity condescending schmuck about my story as if he could possibly relate.”

Dr. Park looked back at him. His face dark and distant. Like he was looking through him. Completely unphased. “Are you done?” he finally said. “I’ll cut you a deal,” Dr. Park licked his lips, looking at his watch. “You talk to me for the next twenty minutes. And you talk openly and honestly and calmly and you answer my questions the best you can. And after that, you can spend the last ten minutes of this appointment asking me questions. And I’ll answer whatever questions you want to ask me,” he looked back. His eyes catching the light for barely a moment. That same flash as yesterday that was gone in an instant. “Is that a fair exchange?”

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I want to know anything about you?”

Dr. Park shrugged. “Intuition,” he said.

Jaebeom felt his shoulders drop. The warmth curling in his stomach, overpowering any other symptoms. Replaying that flash in the doctor’s eyes. Wishing more than anything that he could summon it on command.

Dr. Park clicked his pen, absentmindedly. He held it over the notepad. “When did your drug use start?”

But Jaebeom kept looking at him. His pensive face more open than before. The way his eyes drilled into him. Like he was really listening. There were few times people even asked him questions. Sure, he’d be in interviews and meetings and there’d be a few times people would direct questions to him. But it was always like they weren’t really listening at all. Like they already had an expectation of what he would say. And no matter what, that was all they could hear. Jaebeom was only a reflection of people’s expectations of him.

But Dr. Park was giving him a different look entirely. And it wasn’t laced with an expectation of what he would say but instead with genuine interest. More than that. Determination. Like Jaebeom was at the end of his tunnel vision. So instead of protesting, Jaebeom licked his lips and told him the truth.

“I was a trainee,” he started. “First, I hurt my back. So, they gave me something for the pain and told me to keep going. And it was the first time I remember just doing one thing that made everything feel better. It was an instant happy.

“And they made us stay up all night rehearsing. No windows in the practice rooms so you couldn’t even tell if the sun had come up or not. And I was fucking exhausted all the time. And my roommate had ADHD. And he was an asshole. So, I didn’t feel bad about taking some of his stuff off his hands when he was away at his lessons. And just like that, I had the energy to keep going all night.

“Then, I debuted. I was working so hard. Your body doesn’t really know how to feel. You’re constantly exhausted from your schedules but simultaneously being put in the most hectic situations. I would get so riled up. I couldn’t sleep. So, they gave me something for that, too.”

Dr. Park wrote on his notepad, scribbling furiously. Looking back up at Jaebeom with those warm brown eyes. And something about them made Jaebeom keep going.

“Then after the debut didn’t go as expected and there were all these talks about numbers and streams and views, and I had no idea what to make of it. It just got harder. Even just to go onstage sometimes.” Jaebeom looked away for a moment, feeling his breathing getting a little more labored. Remembering. “I’d get worried about what people were thinking. Sure, I was some rookie teen, but did they look down on me for that? Did they look at me and see my expiration date just like my company did? But the company told me it was normal to feel that way. They gave me something for that too.

“And everything seemed to get better after that. I could go onstage without fear. I could do my schedules when they wanted me to. I could rest when there was nothing else to do. It regulated everything. It made it into a formula. I’m doing this, so I need to feel this, so I need to take this.”

He looked up. “Is that honestly a bad thing?”

Dr. Park licked his lips. He adjusted his glasses. “Most people regulate those things on their own.”

Jaebeom huffed, “Most people aren’t global superstars.”

Dr. Park smirked, down into his notepad.

Jaebeom felt that warmth churned up again, like loose sand and shells in the undertow. Loosening up the things that felt so concrete in him.

“What about you?” Jaebeom asked.

“What about me?”

“How did you get into this? Recovery stuff,” he shrugged.

Dr. Park pursed his lips. “I didn’t plan on it,” he took off his glasses, stowing them in his shirt pocket. “I was in school studying psychology. I thought I would be a researcher. Neurobiology and stuff. I loved thinking about neuropathways and how your mind reinforces the same patterns over and over again. How we can rewire ourselves over time.” His voice changed. Giving off the first hint of a genuine smile that Jaebeom had seen on him.

The smile faltered. “But,” he started, swallowing before continuing. “Then I found out that someone close to me was struggling with addiction. And I saw the way it affected them. Took over their life. Ruined their relationships. And it was hard. Really hard.” He nodded, like he was remembering too vividly.

“So, when they recovered, I supported them throughout that process. And it was very fulfilling. It was like I was watching them bloom into someone who was completely themselves. So, shortly thereafter, I changed my specialization. And here I am.”

“Do you still feel that sense of fulfillment?”

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “But in this line of work, you have to accept that not every case is going to be a success story.”

“What do you think I’m going to be?”

Dr. Park looked back at him. “You write your own story, Jaebeom,” he said. “Not me. If you want to be sober, you’ll do it. But it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I have,” Jaebeom nodded.

“And yet you’re here,” Dr. Park raised a brow. “Spilling your back story in exchange for a fragment of mine.”

Jaebeom smiled. “Call me a sucker for a pretty face.”

Dr. Park sighed. “We’ll wrap up for today,” he said, getting up from his chair. “I hope you feel better, Jaebeom.” He averted his eyes, focusing instead on some paperwork on his desk.

Jaebeom watched how quickly Dr. Park pulled away to nothing. How it had all that churned up sediment settling back down inside of him. “Yeah,” he said, getting up and stretching out his back. “See ya, Dr. Park.” He waved, finding his way back out into those long empty halls.

\---

The next day. Or was it two days later? Jaebeom was losing count of how they ran together. He was sitting opposite from Dr. Park again.

“So,” the doctor started. “Your music.”

“Do you listen to it?” Jaebeom smirked.

“No,” he shook his head. “The shiny pop stuff isn’t really my thing.”

Jaebeom nodded. “Mine neither,” he huffed a laugh.

Dr. Park’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you write your songs?”

“Not the ones that people end up hearing,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I’ll produce some beats now and then. A stray melody maybe. But what I deliver and what the company ends up with are usually unrecognizable from each other.”

“Where’s the inspiration come from?”

“Well,” Jaebeom sighed. The answer forming before he could even react. Formulaic. The way he’d answered it dozens of times. “For the last single, the company wanted to try something different. So-“

“No,” Dr. Park stopped him. “I don’t mean their songs. I mean the ones you write.”

And Jaebeom was a little taken aback. He’d never been asked really. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Life. I guess.”

“What in life?” Dr. Park shrugged.

“Anything. Books, movies.”

“Your personal life?”

Jaebeom thought for a moment. “Not usually,” he shook his head. “I mean surely there’s a few. But people don’t want to hear what I have to say. They want their love songs so that they can delude themselves into thinking, even for a moment, that I’m singing about them.”

“You don’t write love songs?”

“No,” Jaebeom looked down a little. Turning a little self-conscious. “I just never… felt that before so…” His voice trailed off.

Dr. Park looked up from what he was writing. His eyes wide. “You’ve never been in love?”

Jaebeom felt the warmth curling in his stomach. “I mean,” he started. “I’ve had… connections with people. Surely. Slept with enough of them. Physical attraction. That part’s easy.” He weighed his words before saying them. “But that kind of love you read about. That you see in movies and such. Really knowing a person. And accepting them for all their flaws. And them accepting you.” He was quiet for a moment thinking.

Dr. Park waited patiently.

Jaebeom sighed. “I mean, hell, I don’t know if it’s real but if it is, it probably wasn’t meant for someone like me anyway.”

Dr. Park looked at him. Toying with the pen in his fingers. His eyes too close to pity.

Jaebeom drew in a breath, desperate to redirect. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Dr. Park sighed, dropping his shoulders. “Jaebeom,” he warned.

“Humor me,” Jaebeom smiled.

Dr. Park held his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been in love.”

“Are you in love right now?”

Dr. Park’s mouth drew into a thin line. “That’s enough for today, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom felt the breath held in his chest. There it was again. Dr. Park shutting down like that. Uprooting himself from the conversation. It wasn’t what he anticipated. And it had his mind roaring loud, making too much noise. Jaebeom got up, making his way to the door.

“Jaebeom,” Dr. Park called.

Jaebeom stopped in the doorway.

“You should try writing,” he nodded. “It might help pass the time here.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. The way his sureness seemed to reground. The roots spreading back out beneath his feet.

“Okay,” he nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

\---

It continued like that for days. And they all ran together in Jaebeom’s mind because they were all the same. Wake up, breakfast, therapy, wandering around the facility for hours, walking through the gardens. He did take Dr. Park’s advice. He pulled out a notebook from the depths of his backpack that hadn’t been touched in weeks. He started writing things down. Nothing of true merit. A few lines that circulated through his head. Stopping on the garden bench to spill them onto the page. Something about a flash in someone’s eyes. About warmth that seemed circulate through his veins.

But a few hours would pass and Jaebeom would read the lines over again. He’d scoff. He’d scratch it out. He wasn’t that naïve. Sure, given the opportunity, he would fuck the doctor on that couch in an instant until all then nurses could hear. But those things he was writing about. Those weren’t real. They were some projection of the boredom and the loneliness. And that was a much easier narrative to believe anyway.

And he missed the drugs. There was never a moment where he didn’t. Because even without the stages and the lights and the crowds, there was still this feeling he could never shake. The one that had followed him since before he could remember. One that he tried not to think of. Tried to keep from articulating. Because if he could translate the feeling into words, maybe those words would become a curse that he’d never shake. But even without words, he could feel it lingering in the middle of his chest. A hole that never filled.

And without the drugs, he felt like it would swallow him whole.

\---

Those unintelligible days kept adding up. And Jaebeom kept waking up, each day a little closer to feeling human despite the full body aches that would start in his head and radiate down his limbs. But his stomach wasn’t nearly as sick feeling as it had been and so when they would bring breakfast around, he would willingly accept it. His hunger roaring awake for the first time in days.

“You look better today,” the nurse commented one day. Maybe it was day eight or was it ten?

Jaebeom only gave a small raise of his brow before shoveling more rice into his mouth.

And some time around midday, after a few long hours of doing nothing at all, he wandered down the same hallways to Dr. Park’s office.

“How is it so far?” Dr. Park sat down with him.

“How is what?”

“Life without the pills or the booze or the sex,” Dr. Park counted off.

“It’s horrific,” he shook his head. “Is everyone’s life this boring?”

And Dr. Park let out a laugh. Deep from his chest and spreading his mouth wide. His hand coming up to cover it.

And the sound of it had Jaebeom’s mouth spreading wide into a smile.

“Rehab is boring,” Dr. Park agreed. “You’ll be out of here sooner than you think though. Off on your tour.”

Jaebeom hummed. “Yeah,” he sighed. “The tour.”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“It’s complicated,” Jaebeom started. “Touring is a lot of nothing accompanied by bursts of everything. It’s a lot of going to these beautiful places and not having the time to explore. Only having the time to sit around at some venue, which becomes indistinguishable from every other venue, and sitting in waiting rooms and doing soundchecks and falling asleep in your hair and makeup chair. All this waiting that leads up to these two hours where it’s almost too much. Too hectic. Too loud. Too many people. And then you get off the stage and it’s back to nothing. Or if you’re me. Pre-rehab me, that is. It’s back to some after-party where you drink too much and take whatever local drugs you can find and then end up kicking people out of your bed at four in the morning so you can get some real sleep before you have to wake up and catch a plane and do it all over again.”

“Do you like it or not?” Dr. Park sighed. “It’s hard to tell when you talk about it like that.”

“It’s not that simple,” Jaebeom scoffed. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to be on a stage like that.”

“I don’t,” Dr. Park’s eyes widened. “Enlighten me. What’s it feel like?”

Jaebeom sat back. He thought for a moment. Licking his lips. “Freedom.”

Dr. Park looked back at him. Wordlessly, encouraging him to continue.

Jaebeom took a breath. Pushing forward. “All eyes are on you, sure. But the crowd is only seeing what they want to see. They can’t see beyond their own expectations of who they think you are,” he paused, smiling. “So that leaves this space. A space between that expectation and who you really are. And this is the space I thrive in. Because in that space doesn’t matter what I do or say or who I fuck or how much I drink because no one can even see that deep anyway. Cause they aren’t looking for it.”

Dr. Park held a breath for a moment. Pursing his lips. He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound freeing to me. That sounds lonely.”

Jaebeom smiled. “And that’s why you are sitting there with a notepad and a degree and an uptight attitude and I’m sitting at the top place on nearly every chart in the modern world.”

Dr. Park’s mouth upturned slightly. “So. There’s this inner Im Jaebeom. The one no one can see because they don’t look for him. What about him?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “He doesn’t matter.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Cause he never did,” Jaebeom swallowed. “He only mattered when he became JB.”

“What about growing up? Who was he?”

“He…” Jaebeom felt the tinge of his chest. “He was just another kid. Nothing special about him.”

“Your parents?”

Jaebeom felt the slight nervousness from where the conversation was going. But when he looked up, he saw Dr. Park’s eyes. That look of him listening. Patient, yet determined. He took a breath. “My mom was there. But she hadn’t planned for me. To her, I was just a pain in her ass. My grandmother was the one who really took care of me. So when she passed away and my mom had to step up, she didn’t want that responsibility. So as soon as I got recruited, she shipped me off to Seoul to be a trainee. Consider it extended baby-sitting.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I send her money a few times a year. But we don’t have anything to talk about. She didn’t watch me grow up. She doesn’t know me. What could we possibly have to discuss?”

Dr. Park hummed. Making a note. “And your father?”

Jaebeom shook his head. “Never knew him,” he smiled. “My mom never wanted to talk about him. I always wondered why. So, a couple years ago. After I got my first major award. I had Mark track him down. Turns out he was just some farmer. Was stationed near my mom during his service. Likely never knew about me. I thought about trying to reach out. But he was already gone. Cirrhosis of the liver. Just a drunk, an addict like me. Bastard didn’t even make it to fifty.” Jaebeom laughed.

Dr. Park didn’t join him.

Jaebeom quieted. Feeling awkward in the silence.

Dr. Park put down his pen. “That doesn’t sound easy. What you went through.”

“It was what it was. Mistakes happen. I was one of them. I wasn’t supposed to come into this world. But now. Now, I’m not leaving until everyone knows who I am. That’s how I will finally spite fate,” he nodded.

“But they don’t really know you,” Dr. Park reminded him. “They know JB.”

Jaebeom shrugged. “Close enough, right?”

“Not really,” Dr. Park shook his head.

Jaebeom checked the clock. “Isn’t it time for you to share?” he said.

The doctor looked back. “Okay,” he put his pen down. “Shoot.”

Jaebeom thought. “What was it like growing up in the Park household?”

“Very different from your experience.”

“Oh,” Jaebeom smiled. “I’m sure. Let me take a guess.”

Dr. Park nodded.

“Only child. Apple of his parent’s eye. Student body president. Got accepted into his top choice school in Seoul. Still goes home every Chuseok. The first love that none of your ex’s ever forget.”

Dr. Park was quiet for a moment.

Jaebeom smiled. “Was I that good?”

“I have two older sisters,” Dr. Park said darkly.

Jaebeom laughed, loud and bright.

Dr. Park’s face broke and he laughed too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, doc,” Jaebeom got up, walking himself backwards towards the door. He gave a wink before turning back down the hall.

\---

And then somehow, it was day thirteen. And Jaebeom was sitting across from Dr. Park in his office. That flooding light too familiar now. Jaebeom’s mind like a wide-open aperture, just trying to take it all in because he wasn’t sure how he was going to reflect on all that was happening to him, but he knew he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

“You’re almost done,” Dr. Park was smiling. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom nodded, almost dazed at how the time had flown by.

“How do you feel?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “I don’t wake up feeling like death the way I did the first few days. I still have headaches from time to time. Feel feverish when I don’t rest enough. But-“

“Not just physically,” Dr. Park stopped him. “Mentally. Emotionally.”

Jaebeom stopped. Looking away, blankly. Thinking. “My head’s a lot clearer. Less foggy. And sometimes that’s kind of nice. Sometimes,” he crossed his arms. His fingers drummed against his sides. “But, I mean, being here isn’t really real life, is it? The usual things that make me want to get high. The people and the crowds and the performing and the schedules. Those don’t exist here. And it’s weird to think that I’m just diving back into the deep end.”

“You don’t feel well prepared?”

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom felt the back of his neck. “I mean…” he gritted his teeth. Not keen on the admission. “If I have to stay sober for much longer, it’s not gonna be easy.”

“What does it feel like?” Dr. Park asked. “When you feel that way. When you feel overwhelmed by everything?”

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom sighed. He thought about it a long time before speaking up again. “I just feel like there’s this hole inside of me and it’s always been there and nothing seems to fill it. And the drugs help but when the drugs aren’t there, it’s like I’m spilling out. It’s like black tar. Sticky and coating everything. And I don’t want anyone to see it.”

“What if they do?” Dr. Park shrugged.

Jaebeom put a nail between his teeth. “I don’t want to be weak.”

“You’re just as weak as the rest of us,” Dr. Park said. “You don’t always need to pretend that you’re not. It’s okay to be weak. To need people.”

“You’re not weak,” Jaebeom stated.

“I’m not perfect, Jaebeom,” he laughed.

“Then you’re damn good at pretending.”

“Stop,” he shook his head. “It’s my job to be strong for people.”

“Then who is strong for you at the end of your days? Who do you need?” Jaebeom leaned forward. “Is there an open position?”

Dr. Park looked back at him. Eyes narrow. “Rule four.”

Jaebeom smiled back. “Right,” he said. “My bad.”

“When I first met you,” Dr. Park took a deep breath. “You told me you had no intention of staying sober. Is that still true?”

Jaebeom took a moment. Thinking it over. “I’ll try my hand at it for a little while. I need to keep the company off my back. I’ve become too easy of a target for them. And I don’t want to end up in a place like this again,” Jaebeom licked his lips. “But being sober isn’t for me, doc. Surely, you can see that.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “Sobriety looks good on you.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Jaebeom sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you plan on being sober Jaebeom for a while. Maybe you could get to know him. You might end up liking him more than you think,” the doctor smiled.

Jaebeom felt the curling in his stomach. “Have you taken a liking to him, doctor?”

Dr. Park looked back. His lashes heavy. His brown eyes glimmering for a moment. “More than I thought I would.”

Jaebeom chest tightened.

Dr. Park looked down to his watch. “That’s time,” he said, looking back up. All that light in his eyes drained. He got up. “I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave?”

“Yes, sir,” Jaebeom stood, not surprised anymore. Going for the door.

“Oh, and Jaebeom?” the doctor called as he was almost out the door.

He turned to look at him.

“Get a good night’s sleep tonight,” he smiled. “It could be the last one you get for a while.”

Jaebeom nodded. “Thanks, Dr. Park.”

\---

Jaebeom didn’t heed Dr. Park’s advice. He was lying awake in the middle of the night. His eyes trained on the dark mountain barely an outline in the view from his window. He was thinking about what he’d said in his appointment. About that hole inside of him. And it struck him that he’d never talked about that feeling with anyone. Not since…

He waved away the memory but nevertheless, it was still there. That hole. The one he tried to fill with trophies and lights. The one that spilled over into everything unless he had the drugs to hold him together. And he felt it seeping and he wanted to cry the black tar out but he told himself not to. That it would stain the sheets and that nothing would be able to wash his shame away. And so he lay like that, closing his eyes and forcing deep breaths and whispering a promise to himself. That he’d never end up in a place like this again. That the next time he took too much, it would be the end for him. And he’d never have to try and fill that hole again. And he repeated this promise like a prayer until sleep came for him.

\---

And just like that, the final day came. Jaebeom woke up too early. Feeling anxious to get going. He packed up his things. Ate his breakfast. And he walked those hallways for the last time. Taking his time and savoring every step. Knowing that, while this place wasn’t for him, it had been his for this moment in time. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to replicate that again no matter what.

“Today’s the day,” Dr. Park started, sitting himself down in his chair. “You’re a free man again.”

“I guess I am,” Jaebeom sighed. Feeling equal amounts elated and scared. The mix of emotions swarming his insides with temperamental butterflies.

“Your bags are packed?”

“Yup,” Jaebeom nodded.

“Who’s picking you up?”

“My manager and a couple of staff,” Jaebeom answered, his chest momentarily filling at the thought of seeing Mark, who was always the closest thing he had to family. “I’ve got a flight to Berlin in a few hours.”

Dr. Park whistled through his teeth. “You weren’t joking. It’s really right back to work.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Dr. Park seemed to hold his tongue. Pausing before redirecting his questions. “So, it’s been two weeks since Tokyo. What do you miss most about the drugs?”

“Everything,” Jaebeom huffed. Thinking back on the feeling of the high as if it was a place he was homesick for. “I miss the fucking peace and quiet they give me.”

“You don’t want a quiet mind,” Dr. Park shook his head.

“How would you know?”

“Cause quiet minds are for the mundane. And you know you’re not mundane. That’s why millions of people have fallen in love with you.”

Jaebeom winced at the statement. “With part of me. Not the real me. Who even knows if they’d like the real me?”

“I think they would,” Dr. Park shrugged.

Their eyes met for a moment.

The doctor drew in a breath. “Anything else you miss?”

Jaebeom thought for a moment. “This is going to sound stupid,” he crossed his arms. “But the feeling of the pills between my teeth. Biting down on them. I used to really enjoy that.”

Dr. Park was quiet for a moment. He got up, rounding himself behind his desk. “Here,” he opened his desk drawer and pulled something out. He came back around, coming to stand in front of Jaebeom. He held out a small pink package in his hand.

Jaebeom stood up, taking it from him. He looked down at it. It was a bag of plum flavored hard candies.

“When you miss that feeling, take one of these,” Dr. Park nodded. “They’ll give you something to occupy your mouth.”

It was only now that Jaebeom realized he’d never been that close to the doctor. And from this close, he could see every detail. The flutter of his lashes behind his glasses. The small scar on his cheek. The way his mouth hung open a little. The soft curve of his lips. He felt that warmth creep up. The one that seemed solely reserved for Dr. Park.

The rush of it thrummed in him. Inciting something that was familiar. Because to Jaebeom, the rush always felt more like home than the quiet. And the way that switch turned on, so did every old trick he ever coveted and used on every beautiful person that walked into his line of sight. He licked his lips. Focusing his eyes back on Dr. Park’s. “I could find a better way to occupy my mouth,” he said, low and dark. And couldn't remember using this line before but surely some variation of it had to have been muttered into someone's hair once upon a time. And whenever it was, it hadn't failed him then so it surely wouldn't now.

“Jaebeom, please,” Dr. Park scoffed. But the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Moving up a fraction of an inch. His voice dripping poison and comfort all in one.

The sound of Jaebeom’s name, his real name, in Dr. Park’s mouth should have felt familiar by now but standing this close breathed new life into it. And the warmth curled itself into his stomach.

Jaebeom took a step forward and like choreographed footwork, Dr. Park mirrored his step backward. Jaebeom only felt the need to keep filling the space between. Step by step. Until Dr. Park’s back was hitting the wall and Jaebeom was extending his hand, placing it just under the doctor’s framed degree, next to his head.

With nowhere else for the doctor to go, Jaebeom brought his face close, feeling that testosterone thrumming through his veins like it had been simmering beneath the surface ever since that first day, waiting to boil over.

Dr. Park’s hands moved into the shirt of his hospital clothes, fisting them in handfuls. But they were still, not pulling him closer or pushing him back. His eyes looked back, icy. He seemed to hold a swallow in his throat.

And Jaebeom craned his head, letting his mouth hover over the skin of his neck, breathing against it. He could feel the way their hips brushed together. “You’re gonna miss me, huh, Dr. Park?” he clicked his tongue between his teeth. “And to think, we could have been doing this the whole time.”

“We’re not doing this, Jaebeom,” Dr. Park breathed. His voice too even. Like he wasn’t even surprised.

“Then you better push me away,” he smirked into his ear. His lips brushing the edge of it. “Before I get the wrong idea.”

Jaebeom pulled his head back, looking into the doctor’s eyes. Seeing the way they caught that midday light. So light and warm and glimmering. He looked down to his lips. Soft and full. He drew his face closer. The distance between them dwindling.

A loud knock at the door made them both jolt. “Mr. Im,” the voice of a nurse called. “Your manager is here.”

They both stopped. Looking at each other. Jaebeom watched the light in his eyes flick off. Turning stone cold and miles away. The shift so sudden that it had Jaebeom releasing a small gasp, wanting more than anything to see it come back. And he felt that warmth turning a little too hot, into fury. It made him angry to think that him, of all people, could command a stage and capture the hearts of a nation yet couldn’t hold that light in Dr. Park’s eyes for longer than a moment. So bright and fleeting like the spark of a match before it refused to catch in the wind.

“You should go, Jaebeom,” Dr. Park said. He unfisted his hands from Jaebeom’s shirt, leaving the fabric bunched together against his chest.

Jaebeom felt that fiery hit of testosterone sinking down into his stomach into nothingness. He stepped away with a ragged sigh.

Dr. Park straightened his shoulders. As if nothing happened. Letting it roll off his back. “If I don’t see you again, I hope it all goes well.”

Jaebeom backed away, tilting his chin up slightly. “And if you do see me again?”

The doctor’s eyes caught that flooding light again. But there was nothing there this time. Just the reflection of himself in them. “Goodbye, Jaebeom,” Dr. Park said. His voice back down to that deep and unreadable tone.

Jaebeom held a breath in his chest. He averted his eyes to the floor. “Goodbye, Dr. Park.” He stuffed the candy into his pocket. He didn’t take a final look at the doctor. No, that look would have held too much and Jaebeom was too afraid of what he would see. So he kept his eyes on the floor, seeing himself out.

\---

The nurse walked Jaebeom out to the garden. Mark was sitting on a bench. He looked so out of place. But maybe it because Jaebeom had never seen Mark in a place like this. Somewhere that wasn’t a broadcasting station or a board room or a concert venue. The light seemed to suit him better than he would have thought. Bouncing off all the high points of his face. Illuminating his dark hair.

“Mark hyung!” Jaebeom yelled, breaking into a run.

Mark looked up, standing to his feet.

Jaebeom ran up, throwing his arms around him. “Ah, hyung,” he laughed. “I missed you.”

“That makes one of us,” Mark slapped his back but Jaebeom could hear the smile in his voice. He pulled back, “You ready to head out?”

“Please,” Jaebeom mock begged. “This place is a hellhole.”

Mark laughed. “You’re such a wimp. You only did two weeks. Hardly a full program.”

Jaebeom shrugged. “I got the highlights. Blah blah drugs are bad. Blah blah childhood trauma. And just like that I’m a new man.”

Mark seemed to quiet a little, staring up at him through squinted eyes from the angle of the sun. “Are you sure you’re ready to get back out there?” he said softly. “I mean you aren’t just going back to the day to day. You’re going on tour. It’s like the Olympics of staying sober.”

“Yeah, why not,” Jaebeom shrugged. “I’m sober now.” He said with an air of sarcasm. “I have nothing fun to do so I might as well make the company a few hundred million dollars, right?”

“I’m serious,” Mark reached out and slapped his chest. He looked at him, earnestly. “What do you want?” Mark asked. “For the tour. What would make it easier for you? Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”

Jaebeom opened his mouth to speak but Mark cut him off.

“Except drugs,” he sighed. “Don’t bother asking for those.”

Jaebeom shrugged, figuring it was worth a shot. He thought for a moment. But then it clicked. And a smile slowly started to spread across his face at the idea.

Mark looked at him. He sighed with a heaving chest. “Oh no,” he narrowed his eyes. “I know that look.”

“I want,” Jaebeom said, surely. “Dr. Park.”

“Who the fuck is Dr. Park?” Mark’s face drew up.

“My therapist,” Jaebeom grinned.

Mark laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Surely, you’re kidding?”

“No, I’m not kidding,” Jaebeom shook his head. He crossed his arms. “I want him to tour with me. So, we can continue our daily sessions.”

Mark opened his mouth, hesitating around words. He seemed to be speechless. “Why would he want to go on tour with some idol?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “Maybe he’s just as bored with this place as I am,” he said, beckoning towards the facility. “I don’t know. You’re the manager. Make him a deal he can’t refuse.”

Mark looked back at him. His face serious. Tinkering like he was trying to figure this out. “Has something happened between you two?” Mark shook his head. “Cause I would rather know now if I’m paying him to be your mental health professional or your own personal courtesan?”

Jaebeom laughed, loud and big. “Nothing yet.”

Mark shook his head, his eyes narrowing in disgust. “Why does ‘yet’ always mean something bad when you say it?” Mark spat. “Why is it always ‘I haven’t died yet. I haven’t gone back on drugs yet. I haven’t seduced my therapist yet.’? Why can’t it be something good? ‘I haven’t gotten a kitten, yet. I haven’t tried a recipe from my new cookbook, yet.’”

“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Jaebeom sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t say I don’t keep your job interesting.”

Mark fought back a smile, suppressing it with the furrowing of his brows. “Keep it infuriating. That’s for sure,” he sighed. “Go get your fucking bags. Let’s get out of this place.”


	2. Berlin

That afternoon, a few staff members drove Jaebeom back to Seoul. They took him to his apartment. They watched him as he packed. Careful to make sure he didn’t try anything. Even insisting Mark watch him change into his airport clothes.

“What only Mark gets a show?” Jaebeom called when the other few staff filed out of his bedroom. “You’ll regret this when you tell your grandkids about how you worked for me.” He slammed the door behind them.

Mark sat on his bed, looking over at him while he changed. “The company is going to have to start offering therapy to anyone who works under you.”

Jaebeom smiled, pulling off his shirt and changing into the first thing he’d worn in two weeks that wasn’t from the facility. And it felt too good to be in clothes that were his again.

“Speaking of,” Jaebeom offered. “I saw you talking to a certain Dr. Park when they were packing the van.” He raised his eyebrows. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Jaebeom,” he sighed. “He’s your therapist.”

“Then,” Jaebeom smiled. “He’s still my therapist? You made a good enough pitch to him?”

Mark twisted his mouth, evading the threat of a smile. “He’s meeting us in Berlin,” he said, like he wasn’t happy about it.

Jaebeom felt the stirring of his chest. The prospect of seeing the doctor again suddenly adding a little more energy into his step as he prepared to leave. He started folding up his clothes and tossing them into his suitcase. He looked back over to Mark. “So, do you think he’s handsome?”

Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does it matter what I think?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “It doesn’t,” he said. “I’m just making conversation.”

Mark pulled out his phone, feigning disinterest. “He’s handsome.”

Jaebeom smirked and pulled a shirt over his head.

“And married,” Mark said.

And Jaebeom’s head popped through and he looked back, his eyes suddenly twice as wide and his mouth small.

Mark looked over at him. “Oh,” he smiled. “You didn’t know that.”

Jaebeom’s mind flashed back. To the way the therapist seemed to back out of every encounter that Jaebeom tried to push onto him. To how that glimmer in his eyes would drop in an instant. To how he’d been hesitant to answer if he was in love. And Jaebeom had egotistically assumed he was talking about him. He felt a momentary wash of embarrassment. Like maybe he’d read all of the doctor’s subtle expressions wrong. But perhaps what came easier than embarrassment was anger, which is why the realization had Jaebeom feeling suddenly heated and agitated that Dr. Park had never mentioned it. Like maybe he had been intentionally, cruelly trying to make Jaebeom look foolish.

“The company has another request,” Mark interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “You’re not gonna like it.”

Jaebeom felt the questions about Dr. Park still lining his mouth, sour and burning. He had nothing to exchange them for but more fury. “What now?” he scoffed, going to his closet to pick out a jacket. “I’m clean. I’m seeing a therapist. I’m doing the stupid tour. What more do they want from me?”

Mark smacked his lips. “They want you to have a sober companion.”

Jaebeom turned away from his closet. He looked at Mark. His mouth hanging open. His eyes narrow and sharp. He laughed. “Oh, fuck that,” he shouted. “I’m getting a babysitter?”

“It’s not a baby-“

“Don’t fuck with me, Mark,” Jaebeom paced over to him, feeling ready to throw down. “You know what that fucking is.”

“He’s just there to…” Mark sighed. “I don’t know. Ease the process. Give you advice and stuff.”

“More like watch me take a shit and stuff,” Jaebeom grimaced. “Are you joking? Please tell me this is just a joke. To get me back for Tokyo?”

“I’m not joking, Jaebeom,” he shook his head. “He’s meeting us in Berlin, too.”

And Jaebeom turned back towards the closet, resisting the urge to pull everything off its hanger and throw it out the window.

\---

When they arrived at the airport, it was loud and crowded. It took Jaebeom nearly twenty minutes to maneuver the few hundred feet he needed to get past security. It was no surprise that everyone wanted to see the idol emerging from his rehab stint. And Jaebeom tried to keep his head down and his cap low, avoiding all the shouts of his name. But without the haze of drugs to hide behind, he felt something that was oddly similar to that detox fever crawling back up his spine and soaking through his hairline.

But he made it through into the terminal where he could finally just breathe again, albeit still being watched by a hundred passing eyes and the occasional cell phone camera, but it was still a far cry from the chaos outside the airport.

“I’m getting coffee,” Mark said to him. “Do you want anything?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom said, still trying to catch his breath. “You know my order. I’m going to sit down at the gate.” He beckoned behind him and waved Mark away.

He took a seat, trying to get his heart rate back down to resting. He took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his hair with the sleeve of his denim jacket.

“How’s it going?” a voice called from the seat facing him, veiled in an accent.

Jaebeom knew who it was. The accent always gave him away. He didn’t look up, just let his hands search for something to distract himself. Relieved to find a magazine left on the seat next to him. He put it in his lap, flipping it open. “Hello, Bammie,” he sighed. “You going to take my picture?”

“You know I don’t take pictures past immigration, JB-hyung,” the boy said.

Jaebeom flipped the pages, eyes scanning. Thwating them rhythmically as he flipped. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “It’s JB-ssi.” He came upon a picture of himself. Some paparazzi shot from Tokyo. Him ducking into the club the night of his overdose. His smile too wide and his eyes too black. And in it, he struggled to recognize himself.

The boy huffed. “So, you can call me Bammie but I can’t call you hyung?”

“Yup,” Jaebeom gritted his teeth, tearing the page out of the magazine and balling it up in his fist. He threw the balled-up paper to the ground, looking up at him finally.

Bambam was sitting across from him. His skin tan and his hair a new, vivid shade of scarlet and his camera draped too big around his neck. His packed bag next to him. His outfit a smattering of loud patterns leading into pointy heeled boots. And it amused Jaebeom how the boy often looked more like an idol than he did. But the thought lurked below and Jaebeom had to remind himself that every stitch of clothing on the boy was bought from money he got selling Jaebeom’s face. And he still couldn’t find it within himself to hate Bambam.

Jaebeom still remembered the fan sign he’d had in Korea. Bam was smaller then, fresh out of high school. All bones and no muscle. And even as tiny as he was, he’d knelt down at the table that was littered with gifts from fans and he’d held out a photo of Jaebeom from three years prior. Just after his debut. When his hair was white blonde and spikey and everything was too big for his teen body. And Bam had asked him in broken Korean to sign it.

“Wow,” Jaebeom had looked at the picture. “Where did you get this? God, this was years ago.”

“That was the first photo I ever took of you,” Bambam had smiled. “Your first fan meeting in Thailand. I was 14.”

And as he looked at him, he had remembered that first trip to Thailand and how the weather had been stifling hot and the mangos had been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted and the people had been warmer than the icy personalities of Seoul and it just kind of made sense that a kid like this came from a place like that.

Jaebeom signed the picture. “How long are you visiting Korea?” he asked, absentmindedly. He handed it back.

“I’m not visiting,” he said. “I moved here.”

And Jaebeom had just looked at his young face and his full cheeks and asked, “Why?”

“So I can be the biggest fan site you’ve ever seen,” the boy nodded. “My name is Bambam. Remember me.” And he took the photo and walked back to his seat.

And now, it was five years later and Bambam’s Korean was fluent and his bills were paid and they somehow worked out this weird symbiotic relationship where they understood that they were fueling each other’s success while maintaining this idol-fan relationship. Nothing about it felt normal but something about it had become comfortable.

“I asked how’s it going?” Bambam repeated, shaking Jaebeom from his memory.

Jaebeom licked his lips. “About as good as you think it’s going,” he sighed.

“If you wanted to talk about it-“

Jaebeom huffed under his breath. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms against his legs. His tone and his eyes turning pointed. “I just spent the past two weeks talking to strangers about it. Do you think I want to do more of that?”

Bambam looked at him through dark eyes, waiting for him to calm down.

Jaebeom sat back in his chair. Folding his hands into his lap. He took a deep breath.

Bambam pursed his lips. “You don’t have to call me a friend, but don’t demote me to stranger.”

And Jaebeom could tell by the tone of his voice that he was hurt. And he felt the hot prick of guilt on the back of his neck. “Sorry, Bam,” he sighed. “I’m just… doing the best I can.”

“Well, don’t take it out on the people trying to help you,” Bambam scoffed.

Jaebeom didn’t say anything. But he took Bam’s words and buried them somewhere hoping that he’d be able to find them again when his head wasn’t fogged with nervous agitation.

“And could you please try and make it through the tour without crashing?” the boy added. “My plane tickets are nonrefundable.”

Jaebeom smirked. Knowing that Bam’s jests were filled with unspoken admiration. “No promises, Bammie.”

“Hey,” Mark walked up. He stopped, looking over to Bambam. “Hey, kid. What did I tell you about-“

“Let him be. He’s fine,” Jaebeom waved away and took the coffee from Mark’s hands.

\---

When they landed, it was straight to the venue with only a few hours till the show. Crew had already been there most of the day setting up and Jaebeom was ushered to a waiting room. Cause that was the thing about a job like this, there was a lot of waiting.

Jaebeom didn’t like the waiting. He more often liked the doing. The rush of validation that doing brought. But the waiting sometimes felt endless and only heightened the noise in his head which had never been quiet in the first place hence the drugs. But even drugs didn’t necessarily fill time. They sped it up and slowed it down, but time was there, nonetheless. So often the staff could rely on him being on some waiting room couch with a book in his hands. Getting his mind as far away as possible.

But as he sat on the waiting room couch with a book in his hands, his eyes couldn’t keep up with his mind and every time he got to the end of the page, he realized he hadn’t actually read a word and he had to start over again. And he figured that maybe this was just how his brain was going to be for a while as it readjusts to life without dependencies. Or maybe this was just his brain normally. He just had never gone long enough without drugs to know.

That’s how Mark found him when he came into the room. “He’s here,” Mark said.

“Who?” Jaebeom asked, not looking up from his book.

“Your sober companion. Just got in from the airport.”

Jaebeom sighed, ragged and closing his eyes. “God damn it.”

“Do you want me to…” Mark’s voice trailed off as he beckoned towards the door.

“Just send him in,” Jaebeom scoffed. He dog-eared his page and tossed the book down, “He’s got to be better than your annoying ass following me around, right?”

“Hey,” Mark glared at him. “How do you think I feel? I’m the one who has real work to do.”

“Whatever,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Go do your work, hyung.”

Mark looked at his watch. “Somebody should be coming to get you in a few minutes to take you to soundcheck.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaebeom nodded, stretching his hands behind his head.

Mark left and in the quiet of the waiting room, Jaebeom could hear his voice echoing against the cement walls of the hallway. “He’s right in there,” he said. “Don’t let him shake you. He’s all bark and no bite.”

And Jaebeom huffed a laugh thinking Mark sounded like he was coaching this guy to go toe-to-toe with a heavyweight champion. And Jaebeom thought maybe he was the heavyweight champion of something. From Mark’s perspective, maybe being an asshole.

Jaebeom’s mind had been plastered with an image of who this person would be. Some sweaty middle-aged guy with a receding hairline, an ex-wife who remarried a decent man, and three estranged kids who wanted nothing to do with him even if he recently got his shit together. But when he looked up to the sound of the door opening, Jaebeom didn’t expect what he saw.

First of all, the boy was young. He couldn’t have been over twenty-one. And he was dressed in skinny jeans and an oversized hoodie that seemed to swallow him. Over his shoulder, he carried a backpack and in his fingers, a mask dangled by its strings. He had dark hair that shined in the fluorescent lights of the waiting room. Bangs low on his face, grazing the tops of his eyes. And he looked like he’d just wandered in from an undergrad program to do his summer abroad.

“So,” Jaebeom raised his eyebrows, voice laced with distrust. “You’re my sober companion.”

His eyes looking a tinge nervous and his lips pressing together. “I guess so,” the boy said.

And Jaebeom eyed him, taking it all in. And it still didn’t make any sense to him, but he figured Mark could get an earful about this later. “Im Jaebeom,” he held out his hand.

The boy looked at his outstretched hand. “Choi Youngjae,” he replied finally, stepping forward to shake it.

“Well then,” Jaebeom leaned back onto the couch, stretching his arms out across it. “What’s your story? How’d you get into… this line of work.”

Youngjae scrunched his nose, readjusting his backpack. “I did drugs. Then I didn’t. Now, I help other people not do them. I guess.”

Jaebeom huffed a laugh. “Have you been successful at that?”

“I don’t know,” Youngjae shrugged. “You’re my first.”

Jaebeom smiled. “You always remember your first.”

Youngjae kept his eyes focused but there was no mistaking the reddening of his ears.

And before Jaebeom could comment on how cute it was, Jackson burst into the room. “Hyung,” he started. “We-“ he stopped. “Oh,” he looked over to Youngjae. “Who’s this?”

“Choi Youngjae,” Jaebeom gestured to him. “He’s my…” he sighed. “My sober companion.”

“No way,” Jackson huffed, looking Youngjae over. He gave a loud crack of laughter. “Doesn’t the company have a policy about hiring minors?”

Youngjae looked back at Jackson, his eyebrows furrowing below the cover of his bangs into a glare.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Youngjae,” he beckoned. “This is Jackson Wang. He’s one of my main dancers.”

“Pleasure,” Youngjae said through his teeth.

Jackson flicked his eyes over to Jaebeom. “Hey,” he called. “We have a soundcheck to do. Come on.”

Jaebeom got up, passing by Youngjae and following Jackson out.

“Uh, JB-ssi,” Youngjae called. His voice hesitant.

Jaebeom looked back at him. “Yes, Youngjae?”

The boy shifted between his feet. “Wh-what should I be doing?”

Jaebeom licked his lips. He stepped closer. Looking into his eyes and seeing the way they faltered slightly. “Well,” he started. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching me?”

Youngjae nodded, fingers going tight around the strap of his backpack.

“Then, watch me,” Jaebeom smirked before turning out the door.

And as he started down the hall, he could hear the way that Youngjae’s steps fell in line behind him. And he thought maybe this would be more fun than he thought.

\---

“Who’s the kid?” Yugyeom called from where he sat on the edge of the stage. He was waiting for them to finish testing the lights so they could run through the choreography. He was leaned back onto his hands while his legs bounced like if he ever stopped moving, he’d combust.

Jaebeom was adjusting a mic stand when his eyes snaked up into the seats of the stadium. Rows upon rows of empty lines looking back at him. But there, like a dot, on the upper level, sat Youngjae. His eyes looking around, taking it all in. His hands fisted into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

Jackson came and sat down between them. He threw his head back with a laugh. “Oh, Yugyeom,” he smiled. “Just wait. You’re gonna love this.”

Jaebeom sighed. “Then, you tell him, Jacks.”

Yugyeom looked between them. Eyes wide. Waiting.

Jackson adjusted himself. Getting too excited. “It’s his sober companion.”

“Hyung, no,” Yugyeom covered his mouth to keep from cracking up. “You’re kidding.”

Jaebeom sneered at them. “It was the company’s decision, not mine. Obviously.”

“God,” Jackson shook his head in disbelief. “Do they even know you? You’re gonna chew him up and spit him out.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna do anything. I’m just gonna play along and hope I can fly under his radar long enough to weasel my way away from him.”

Yugyeom looked up at Youngjae. “He is kind of cute though,” he offered. “In that never been kissed kind of way.”

“Yah,” Jaebeom leaned over, slapping him upside the head. “Don’t think about putting your corrupted baby hands all over my sober companion.”

Yugyeom cried out, rubbing over the spot Jaebeom had hit. “God,” he scoffed. “Sober hyung is the worst.”

Jackson held up a finger, “Seconded.”

Jaebeom sighed. His shoulders dropping. “Yeah, well,” he said under his breath. “I’m not his biggest fan either.” He looked up to those stadium seats and saw Youngjae staring right back at him.

\---

A little while before the show started, Jaebeom was in the waiting room. He finished getting his hair and makeup done. He was sitting on the couch, in his stage clothes, trying once again to read. But just like before, his eyes couldn’t focus. And he felt like if anything, it was worse now. Distracted by that feverish feeling creeping up his neck.

Jackson came up, taking a seat next to him. “How are you feeling, hyung?”

“I’m fine, Jacks,” he swallowed, focusing his eyes at the top of the page again.

“You won’t stop bouncing your knees.”

Jaebeom became aware, stilling them before crossing them. “I’m just a little nervous is all.”

“Different without the pills, huh?” Jackson leaned his elbow against the back of the couch. A small smirk in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom sighed. “Different.”

Jackson’s mouth got close to Jaebeom’s ear. “You want to step away for a moment?” he said, lowly. “I have an idea about how I could take care of that. Managed to bring a little something with me.”

Jaebeom smirked into his book. This wasn’t the first time this offer had been extended to him.

No, the first time had been somewhere in China. Jaebeom had been doing press all day and he didn’t know a lick of Chinese besides the lines that the staff would feed him during shows and Jackson said he knew someone so he went to pick up a supply to hold Jaebeom over until they got back to Korea. They’d been in the waiting room, always in a waiting room, when Jackson came in, standing over him and rattling the container, just to taunt him.

And after all the press, Jaebeom had felt jumpier than usual so he reached up, just for it to be pulled out of reach. “That’s not funny, Jacks,” he had said and tried again just for the same thing to happen.

And Jackson had laughed. “Come and get them, hyung!” He ran out of the room and down the hall and Jaebeom chased after him. And Jackson took a turn into the bathroom and Jaebeom had kept chasing. And Jackson shut himself in the stall and when Jaebeom burst through, Jackson had a pill between his front teeth. Jaebeom fisted his shirt and shoved him up the wall and chased after that pill too.

And that’s how it started. All teeth and lips and drugs literally between them and it seemed more like fighting than fucking. After a while, Jaebeom didn’t have to lick the pill from Jackson’s teeth anymore. But it sure made it go down easier. Nevertheless, it became some variation of a pre-show ritual for them.

Jaebeom’s eyes flicked over to where Youngjae was sitting. Headphones in, looking off, bored. “I can’t,” Jaebeom sighed. “The boy has to follow me unless I’m on stage.”

“Maybe he’d be into it,” Jackson shrugged. “You did say you thought he was cute.”

“I didn’t,” Jaebeom argued. “Yugyeom did.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

Jaebeom sighed. He leaned over, slotting his hand against Jackson’s hip and bringing his mouth to his ear. “Look,” he whispered. “When this tour’s over, I’ll keep you in my apartment for a week and we’ll fuck and get high as much as you want.” He pulled away, looking into Jackson’s face.

His eyes sparked. Wild and alive. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he smirked.

And Jaebeom looked over to see Youngjae’s eyes fixated on the way his hand gripped Jackson’s hip. But just as quick as his eyes were there, they were gone. Staring off again like he didn’t even want to be there.

\---

They had about ten minutes till showtime. And Jaebeom was somewhere under the stage. The crowd could be heard loudly. He was trying to quell that feverish creep that was lingering somewhere along his spine.

Jaebeom spotted Youngjae wandering around. Looking dazed and out of place in the hustle of backstage.

Jaebeom came up behind him. “You ready?” he asked closely.

Youngjae jolted a bit, stepping away from him. “For what?” Youngjae’s eyebrow cocked. “I’m not the one doing anything.”

Jaebeom smiled. “Have you ever been to one of my shows before?”

Youngjae shook his head. “It’s not really my style of music,” he shrugged, before seeming to catch up with what he said. He stiffened. “No offense.”

Jaebeom couldn’t help but laugh. “None taken.”

“It sounds like a big crowd,” Youngjae looked up towards the sound of the stadium erupting above them.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom said adjusting his mic pack.

“30,000, I heard Mark say.”

Jaebeom felt that feverish hint creep a little higher.

“Do you get nervous?” Youngjae looked at him.

“Not usually,” Jaebeom shrugged.

“But you are tonight?” Youngjae questioned. His eyes bright in the low light.

And something about them stirred something in Jaebeom. “Yeah,” he nodded. He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. “I just,” he twisted his mouth, not looking directly at him. “I know they’ll be watching more closely this time. Cause of what happened.”

“Mmmm,” Youngjae hummed, working through the words. “And you don’t have anything to hide behind now.”

Jaebeom swallowed. Knowing that he hadn’t had the words for it until Youngjae said it. He looked back at him. Seeing that brightness in his eyes. “Right.”

Youngjae bit his lip. He took a quick breath. “Well if anything, it’s my first show,” he shrugged. “So, impress me.”

Jaebeom felt his mouth pull up on one side. “Will I see you out there?”

Youngjae shook his head. “I’m gonna stay down here if you don’t mind. I don’t do crowds.”

“Lucky,” Jaebeom smiled. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Get in position,” Jackson called. “One minute.”

Jaebeom nodded. He looked to Youngjae. “Duty calls.”

Youngjae crossed his arms, smiling toward the floor. He looked back up. “Good luck, JB-ssi.”

\---

The lights changed and the music started and the crowd seemed to come alive. They went from rumbling chatter to deafening cheering in a matter of seconds. And even with his in-ears, Jaebeom could feel how it vibrated the platform beneath his feet. His breath being drawn out of him and that fever finally peaking at his hairline, making him feel soaked despite the fact that he hadn’t even started dancing. The platform moved upwards, becoming level with the stage. Jaebeom kept his eyes low. Willing himself to not look up. But as the song started and the dancers started moving around him, his stomach wouldn’t stop churning and his breathes were getting shorter. And no matter how much he breathed; it didn’t feel like enough.

He sang his way through the first verse, his eyes trained on the floor of the stage. But when the chorus hit, the lights went up. And so did his eyes and suddenly he was looking into the faces of thousands of people in the general admission. And they had their eyes trained on him. Their smiles wide and waiting. What were they waiting for?

And he kept singing but the thoughts were taking over. What did they want? How could he give it to him? When would their faces inevitably fall when they realized that he didn’t know what he was doing?

As the dancers kept circulating, he struggled with knowing where to even go. And eventually he gave up, settling instead with meandering on his own accord. Trying to feel out the space and trying not to let his eyes keep traveling up to see just how many people there were on the upper level.

The first song came to an end. An echo of applause that didn’t even register over the thrumming of the blood in his ears. His mouth tasting dry and his hand shaking around the mic.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. So hot against him that he could feel it through his jacket. He turned slightly.

“What are you doing?” Jackson was there. A hint of urgency in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t formulate the words. He just waved him away. As if telling him to keep going.

He felt himself moving through the motions, but he felt so far from his body. So far from those faces staring back at him. Wanting something from him. Their expectations weighing heavy on him. And that hole inside of him turned into a vacuum and he felt it swallowing everything else.

After the second song, it was time for a quick change. He descended back down under the stage. The dancers huffing and sweating already, leaving the air around him too hot and humid for his pressed lungs. Immediately, the stylists moved him behind a curtain and started stripping off his jacket and his shoes and throwing a new shirt at him and dabbing the sweat off his brow and combing his hair away from his face. And between the rush of the staff and the rush of his breathes, it all felt too much.

“Stop,” he breathed. “Stop!” he said strongly. “Give me a minute.”

“Jaebeom,” one of the stylists rushed to say. “You don’t have a minute. You need to be back out there in forty seconds.”

“Everyone out,” Jaebeom shook his head. “Out!” he shouted.

And their faces went placid. They dropped their hands, looking around at each other. Heavy sighs in their chests as they filtered out, the curtain fluttering behind them.

When the last one was out, Jaebeom squatted down to the floor. His knees hitting his chest. His hands going to cover his ears. “Fuck,” he groaned. His breaths were coming out stuttered and too fast, pulled deep from his chest like they were sobs. And the sound of the crowd just seemed to be getting louder and louder. The hole deeper and deeper.

“Hey,” a voice called, cutting through the sound of the crowd.

Jaebeom turned, drawing his head up out of his hands. Youngjae was there. Knelt next to him. His face close and his eyes wide.

And something about the way he was looking was different. His mouth small and twisted, thinking. And there wasn’t that urgency in him like there had been in the stylists. It was like he didn’t care about that ticking clock or the 30,000 people waiting on him or that he was half in and half out of his next outfit. He was just there.

And that hole in Jaebeom’s chest broke and the floodgates opened. It started spilling out of him. “I can’t do this,” he breathed. “I was so stupid for thinking I could do this.”

“No. You’re okay,” Youngjae said, his eyes serious.

“I’m not,” Jaebeom wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“You’ve done this a thousand times before,” Youngjae soothed.

“But not like this,” he shook his head. “Not without the pills.”

“Hey,” Youngjae called. “Look at me.” His hands going to either side of Jaebeom’s face.

And against Jaebeom’s feverish skin, they felt cool. Stopping him in his tracks. He looked into Youngjae’s eyes. Seeing them open and calm. “Tell me about how your grandma smelled.”

“What?”

“What did she smell like?”

Jaebeom head rushed. But the light in Youngjae’s eyes persisted through it. He focused himself on it. “She…” he stuttered to start. “She had a garden. And she would grow strawberry plants. Dozens of them. And she would harvest them every June. I’d help her.”

Youngjae nodded. Listening.

“And every June, she’d tell me the fable about the Tiger and the Strawberry,” Jaebeom licked his lips. No longer hearing the roar of the crowd. No longer hearing anything but the slow and steady cadence of his voice in his ears. “And she’d hold me close and her hands … they always smelled like strawberries.”

“Tell me the story. About the Tiger and the Strawberry.” Youngjae said, his hands still cool on Jaebeom’s face.

Jaebeom smiled weakly. “You know it. You must know it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Jaebeom breathed. In and out. “A tiger chases a man over a cliff. And he’s hanging by a vine. And when he looks above him, he sees the tiger. And when he looks under him, there’s another tiger stalking him from below. And the vine starts to stretch, about to snap, and he’s panicking. And he looks to the side and he sees a big, juicy strawberry growing just barely out of reach.”

Youngjae licked his lips. “And what does he do?”

Jaebeom takes a breath. And it’s deeper and fuller and feels like his first. “He takes a bite of the sweetest fruit he’ll ever taste.”

Youngjae smiled. A million white teeth, glowing in the low light. Spreading to his eyes. “How do you feel?”

Jaebeom kept breathing. The sounds started to come back, but slowly. Not nearly as loud as before. He nodded.

Youngjae dropped his hands. “Drugs or not, you’ve done this before,” he licked his lips. “Just do it one more time. And if it’s still unbearable, you don’t have to ever do it again.”

Jaebeom felt the way his hands had stopped shaking. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Youngjae nodded.

Jaebeom’s chest filled with a breath. “Okay,” he said. He stood up. He pulled on his jacket and his shoes and pushed his hair out of his face. He let the breath out. Calm and slow.

When he came out from behind the curtain, the staff were there. Their faces tight with irritation. He walked past them. He found Yugyeom and Jackson standing near the stage steps. Their faces and their stances impatient. They saw him approach. Dropping their shoulders. “You ready?” Jackson said.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom nodded. “Let’s do it.”

\---

The show ended. Jaebeom came off stage. Handed over his mic and his in-ears to the tech. Shed his drenched stage clothes and passed them off to the stylists. Changed back into his street clothes. Baggy and comfortable. Threw on a bucket hat and kept his eyes low so that he didn’t have to face any of the staff’s questioning faces.

Mark came around a corner. “You okay?” he said, voice forceful. “I heard you gave us a bit of a scare.”

“I’m okay,” Jaebeom nodded. His eyes flicking over to Youngjae in the corner who was patiently waiting for him. “Just needed a moment.”

Mark looked at him. Like he wasn’t sure if he believed him, but he let it go. “Okay,” he pat his back. “Well, go back to the hotel and get some sleep. We are leaving for Paris tomorrow afternoon.”

The security walked Youngjae and Jaebeom out to their van, windows tinted dark as they passed by the crowd unsuspecting. The car ride was quiet. And Jaebeom didn’t have anything to say so he just let them stew in silence. When they got to the hotel, security walked them up to their room.

“Good night, boys,” Jaebeom called when they got to their door.

Youngjae swiped them in. They went into the room. It was standard. Two single beds spaced between the wall.

Youngjae dropped his bag to the floor before crashing onto the second bed. Curling up onto the pillows and pulling out his phone. The light shining onto his face in the low light.

Jaebeom put his bag down on the first bed. “Do you mind if I take a shower first?” he beckoned towards the hotel bathroom.

“No, not at all,” Youngjae waved to him from his spot on the bed.

“Do you…” Jaebeom raised a brow. “Do you need to watch me?”

Youngjae looked back at him, his eyes narrowing. “Why would I do that?”

Jaebeom shrugged, not expecting the slight edge in his tone. “Isn’t that your job?”

Youngjae sat up. “My job is to make sure your company’s greatest asset doesn’t become their greatest liability,” he said. “If you need help, I give it. If you fuck up, I report back. I’m not a babysitter.”

Jaebeom looked at him. The way his expression was tight with something he didn’t think could come from a face so sweet. Something about Jaebeom’s inference sparking disdain in him. Using Jaebeom’s own words against him, ironically. A complete turn from the wide, patient eyes he’d given him back at the venue. Jaebeom licked his lips, “Maybe you’re feistier than you look.”

“Or maybe I’m just not as naïve as you think I am,” he cocked his brow.

Jaebeom swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Back at the venue,” he started. Feeling uncomfortable. “I owe you one.”

Youngjae shook his head. “I’m just doing my job.”

And something about it hit Jaebeom differently than he thought. Remembering that Youngjae was a paid employee. And that concern he’d shown during the show. The care. It was just a part of his responsibilities. “Right,” Jaebeom’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Just your job.”

Jaebeom took his shower, laying back down on the bed and pulling out his book to read. And Youngjae took one too. Coming out of the bathroom with his hair wet and his jeans and sweatshirt replaced with sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt and bare feet. And Jaebeom tried not to feel weird sharing a space so intimate with a complete stranger.

“Are you ready for sleep?” Jaebeom asked a few minutes later when they were both lying down.

“Yeah,” Youngjae nodded, pulling the blanket up around him.

Jaebeom clicked the light off, settling himself onto his back and looking up at the ceiling.

“Did you like the show tonight?” he asked into the darkness.

“It was loud,” Youngjae said.

“You don’t go to concerts often,” Jaebeom huffed.

Youngjae sighed. “I don’t get the appeal. Every set of lungs in the building screaming hard enough to rupture something. What’s even the point?”

“They’re excited,” Jaebeom shrugged, despite the dark.

“I guess,” Youngjae said. He settled back down to quiet. “But you put on a good show.”

Jaebeom felt himself smile. Thankful that Youngjae couldn’t see it. “Thanks.” But his mind didn’t settle there. It went back to that quick change under the stage and Youngjae’s hands on his face. “Youngjae,” he said, just above a murmur.

“Yes?” the boy said, a little muffled from how he was laying.

Jaebeom drummed his fingers against the edge of the blanket. “How did you know I was close with my grandmother?”

He could hear the way the fabric moved when Youngjae shrugged. “Almost everyone has good memories of their grandmother. It’s probability.”

Jaebeom was quiet. Considering it.

“Good night, JB-ssi,” Youngjae turned away from him.

Jaebeom swallowed. “Don’t call me that. Call me Jaebeom-ssi.”

Youngjae was quiet for a moment. “Good night, Jaebeom-ssi.”

\---

Jaebeom woke up to a knock on his door. He stirred. He looked over and saw Youngjae already up. He was sitting on his bed, a sketch pad in his lap, looking out the window.

“I assume it’s for you,” Youngjae said, not moving.

Jaebeom groaned. He got up. He went to open the door, seeing Mark on the other side.

“Hey,” Mark said. “I was on my way out, so I figured I’d come and get you.”

Jaebeom grimaced, rubbing the sleep from his eye. “Where am I going?”

“Dr. Park’s here,” Mark said.

Jaebeom felt his stomach drop. He looked back at him.

“Come on,” Mark beckoned. “You can meet with him for a while and then we have to go to the airport in a few hours.”

Jaebeom felt that fever creeping up his spine. “Just,” he started. “Just let me put some clothes on.” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead, just shutting the door. “Youngjae,” he called as he took his shirt off.

Youngjae looked back at him from the window, eyes flickering up him before settling on his face.

“I’m going to see my therapist,” he said. “I’ll come back after.”

Youngjae nodded, turning back to the window.

Jaebeom pulled on a pair of jeans. “What are you doing?” He came up behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

Youngjae’s pencil was flicking across the off-white paper. Adding shading to a corner. The pad was wide and on it, a grey sketch. Buildings of various heights, a river that weaved under bridges, a modern looking tower watching over everything. Jaebeom looked up through the window and back again. Seeing how the sketch mirrored the view. And not just in the composition but even the way the light bounced off the orderly shingles of the historic buildings and shimmered against the river.

“That’s pretty good,” he said.

“It better be,” Youngjae said, simply. “It’s my job.” He huffed a laugh. “My real job, that is.”

Jaebeom kept looking, watching the way his hand skittered over the scenery. Adding minuscule strokes that created depth.

“Go,” Youngjae said. “I’ll be here.”

Jaebeom nodded, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto his face. “I’ll see you later.”

Jaebeom left, walking down the hall with Mark.

“He landed in the middle of the night,” Mark said, not looking behind him. “We got him a room.”

They took the elevator down two floors. Mark held the door open. “I need to go make sure the crew is up,” he said. “Can I trust you find it on your own?”

Jaebeom sighed. “What number?”

“390.”

“See you at the airport,” Jaebeom waved him away, stepping out and down the hall.

He found the room easily. And he stood outside. Suddenly feeling overtaken by hesitance. He thought back to the last time he’d been in Dr. Park’s office. The scar on his cheek and the sureness of his eyes when he neither turned him away nor gave in. And the memory of it was souring in the wake of finding out he was married. Bringing up too many questions and too many strong feelings that all seemed to transform into anger in the end.

He sighed, ragged before knocking on the door.

Dr. Park took barely a moment to open. And it had only been two days but something about him looked different. Maybe his hair wasn’t as neat or maybe there was a smudge on his glasses. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all, but it was the setting. So vastly different from the facility that Jaebeom brain scrambled to try and find the differences.

“Good morning,” Dr. Park breathed. “Come in.” He opened the door wide.

And Jaebeom wavered for a moment. Because it wasn’t just an office in some facility anymore, but it was the man’s hotel room. And it didn’t feel right. But nothing about his interactions with Dr. Park had felt right.

Jaebeom walked in, trying not to think about it. “How was your flight?” he asked as he passed him, though it was clearly just to dispel the silence.

“Long,” the doctor answered.

Jaebeom looked at his room. Nearly identical to his own except the two single beds had been replaced with one queen. The white sheets were crisp and perfectly folded, untouched.

“You haven’t slept,” he commented.

Dr. Park looked to the bed. He shook his head. “Jet lag,” he murmured. He flipped around the desk chair and took a seat. Motioning over to the small couch that sat in the corner, near the window. “Please.”

Jaebeom took a breath. He sat down. And something about it, about the distance between them and the way the light was flooding in. It brought back all those same feelings. And he had to look out the window and remember that the view outside wasn’t the Korean countryside but a major European city. Still the same skyline as Youngjae’s sketch.

“Can you take your sunglasses off?” Dr. Park said.

Jaebeom looked back at him. Down his nose. “Why?” he grimaced.

“I just want to be able to see your eyes when you talk to me.”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “Am I that hard to read?”

Dr. Park sighed. “Sometimes.”

Jaebeom took off the glasses, folding them and setting them down on the table next to him. He looked back up at Dr. Park. Their eyes meeting. Layers of things left unsaid.

“How have you been since I last saw you?”

“About the same.”

“How was the first show?”

“Fine, I guess,” Jaebeom sniffed.

“Just fine?”

“Nothing special,” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Everything went smoothly?”

Jaebeom smiled, but it was layered in sarcasm. “As smoothly as it could have gone, doctor.”

Dr. Park looked at him. His eyes dark. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were mad at me,” he twirled the pen in his fingers.

Jaebeom was silent for a moment. “Is it time to ask you questions yet?”

Dr. Park dark eyes blinked. He licked his lips. He put his notepad on the desk behind him, turning back towards Jaebeom. The corners of his mouth drawing upwards. “Fire away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

Dr. Park stiffened. But his face remained unchanged. He shrugged. “That’s my information to share if I want to.”

“You made me look like an ass,” Jaebeom narrowed his eyes.

“Oh no,” Dr. Park shook his head. “I’m confident you can do that without my help.”

“And yet,” Jaebeom scratched his eyebrow. “You are here. Thousands of miles away from whoever the fuck they are. On tour with some celebrity that you definitely don’t want to sleep with.” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dr. Park was quiet.

Jaebeom shook his head. “Do you see how that doesn’t add up? Doctor?”

“You’re the one who requested me,” he countered.

“That was before I knew you were married.”

Dr. Park rushed to his words. “Does it really make a difference to you or are you just trying to feign some kind of moral high ground that we both know you don’t have instead of actually trying to figure out why it upsets you?”

Jaebeom closed his mouth. Glaring. He took a deep breath. “I should go,” he said. “I need to pack for the flight.” He got up.

Dr. Park sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll see you in Paris, Jaebeom”

He didn’t answer. He just let the hotel door shut on his way out.

\---

The airport wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been in Korea. A few dozen fans, their whiny voices erupting from behind their phones when he walked by. And it wasn’t comfortable, but it was better.

“Do you ever get used to people reacting that way?” Youngjae asked, when they were in line for security. His mask tampering his words.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom lied.

They both cleared, going to the gate and having a seat. Youngjae put in his headphones. Pulling out his sketch pad again and reworking the shadows of Berlin’s skyline.

Almost instantaneously, a burst of leather and red hair fell into the seat beside him.

“Jesus,” Jaebeom choked out. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Bam laughed. “Sorry, hyung,” he sing-songed.

Jaebeom sighed, annoyed. He took out his book, opening back up to where he’d last folded a page over. “What do you want?”

“Did you get a new staff member?” Bambam asked, nodding over to Youngjae.

Jaebeom sighed. “Not staff,” he shook his head. He looked over. Youngjae was still busy with his headphones in, not hearing a word they were saying.

Bambam’s eyes widened. “Are you guys…? Is he your…?”

Jaebeom made a face. “Bam, stop,” he grimaced. “He’s my sober companion.” And he noticed it didn’t get any easier each time he said it.

“What’s that?” Bambam said, repeating the Korean under his breath, not placing the phrase.

“He’s meant to stay with me and watch to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh,” Bambam said, like he finally understood. “They should have just hired me.”

“Yeah right,” Jaebeom scoffed. “You’re stupid enough for the both of us.”

Bambam smacked his chest. “Hey.”

“No touching,” Jaebeom pushed his hand away. He looked down into his book for a moment. Letting the silence draw out before speaking again. “How was the show last night?” he asked, his tone dropping into something more serious. “How was I?”

Bam seemed to think for a moment. “A little hesitant,” he nodded. “But I don’t think anyone else would know that but me. You got better though. After you took that break after the second song. And you changed your outfit. I don’t know what happened, but you were a lot better after that.”

Jaebeom thought back. Youngjae’s hands on his face. Cool against the hot skin. His eyes flicked over to him.

“And the pictures still came out good,” Bambam continued. “That new outfit, the one with the silk shirt? And the headband? It’s trending on Naver.”

“Good to know,” Jaebeom stored the info away for later. The intercom crackled above them.

“They are calling first class,” Bambam said, pushing a pair of sunglasses onto his face and leaning back. “You better go.”

He tapped Youngjae’s leg, beckoning him to follow.

They got into line, waiting to board.

“Who was that guy? With the hair?” Youngjae asked. “Is he famous?”

“In his mind,” Jaebeom smirked. “He’s my number one fan site.”

“Oh,” Youngjae nodded. “What was he saying?”

“Nothing,” Jaebeom shook his head. “Just asking about which pictures he should post.”


	3. Paris

It was another waiting room. This time in Paris.

Jaebeom was dressed and ready for the show and Jackson was telling him a story about the first time him and his brother got caught sneaking out. An epic saga involving a fifth of whiskey, a set of Spiderman bed sheets, a broken collarbone.

And Jaebeom was laughing at the animated way that Jackson told the story. Using his hands, imitating his dad’s stern voice. And it had Jaebeom smiling wide, wondering if he’d heard this one before. But he knew that if had, it hadn't been sober. And he couldn’t decide if it had been funnier then or now.

And Jackson was getting to the part where his brother had tried to hit on the EMT when absentmindedly, Jaebeom’s eyes flicked across the room, finding Youngjae. The boy was sitting on a stool in the corner. His elbow resting on the counter and his hand holding his head. His eyes blinking slower and slower until they were closing without his permission, dozing off. And then he snapped awake, before his eyes seemed to immediately betray him again. Getting heavier and heavier.

And something about it had Jaebeom’s wide smile quieting to something smaller. He put a hand to Jackson’s thigh. “Hold on, Jacks,” he said, getting up off the couch. He walked over to where Youngjae was in the corner.

Youngjae roused as he approached, raising his head. His eyes two sleepy blinks trying to focus on his face.

“You’re falling asleep,” Jaebeom smiled.

The boy grimaced, licking his lips. “I’m just a bit jet lagged.”

“Come on,” Jaebeom beckoned his head. “Let’s go get a coffee. I could use one, too.”

Youngjae yawned against the back of his hand. “Probably a good idea,” he nodded, getting up onto two clumsy feet.

“Hey,” Jaebeom called over to Jackson. “If anyone is looking for me, I went to get a coffee with Youngjae at catering, okay?”

Jackson looked back, a slight furrow of his brows. “Sure, whatever,” he nodded.

Youngjae followed him out and down the hallway. They walked the labyrinth of long cement walls, following the signs and finding the catering cart. Jaebeom grabbed two Styrofoam cups, going to fill them with hot water. He grabbed two sticks of instant coffee, ripping the tops off his teeth and dumping them. Grabbing a stick to stir.

“Wow,” Youngjae mocked, his tone still a bit slow with sleep. “He’s a platinum selling recording artist and makes coffee, too?”

Jaebeom smirked to himself. “So,” he said, handing Youngjae a cup. “What kind of art do you do?”

“Every kind,” he said firmly, taking the cup. “But I guess the majority of my stuff is painting or drawing. When I was in art school, it was mostly painting. But lately, I’ve been really into pencils and charcoal which is good cause it travels well.”

“You went to art school?”

“Mhmm,” Youngjae nodded, taking a sip. “I graduated last spring.”

“What have you been doing since then?”

“A little bit of everything,” he said. “A few gallery showings here and there. Some commission work for friends.”

“Must be hard to make ends meet.”

“You make sacrifices to do what you love,” the boy shrugged.

Jaebeom laughed. “Yeah, you follow some weird famous guy across the world.”

“Your words not mine,” Youngjae laughed. Looking down into his coffee and quieting down. “How are you feeling tonight?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “I’m here, right? I’m dressed. I’m ready.”

Youngjae looked up at him. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Jaebeom looked back at him. “Tonight, or in general?”

Youngjae’s lips went into a thin line. “Let’s start with tonight.”

And something about it had Jaebeom smirking. Like they both understood that tomorrow couldn’t be promised. “Tonight, I’ll be fine,” he said, taking another sip.

A clattering of feet had them looking up. Yugyeom came around the corner. “Hey, come on,” he said. “We got ten minutes till show time.”

Jaebeom looked back at Youngjae. “Duty calls,” he shrugged, tossing his cup into the trash. He started to walk towards Yugyeom, noticing when no footsteps fell in line behind his own. He turned back. “Are you coming?”

“Uh,” Youngjae hesitated. “I’m going to stay back here tonight if you don’t mind. It’s just… a lot out there.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. The way he suddenly looked anxious. He thought back to Youngjae at the show in Berlin. How he’d said he didn’t like crowds. How jumpy he’d seemed. And he was suddenly feeling a bit selfish, being so concerned with his own anxieties that he hadn’t been able to see Youngjae’s. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll see you later.” And he followed Yugyeom back down the hall, towards the stage.

\---

The show had been fine. Jaebeom remembered all his moves this time, moving along to the music. Singing without losing his breath. Even feeling comfortable enough to interact with the audience at times, squatting down to look in their faces and watch them sing along.

But somewhere towards the end, maybe the second or third to last song, he looked out into the crowd. Eyes scanning towards the upper level. And his eyes locked onto someone. And the sight of it had him missing a line, his mic falling down to his side as he stared back. Because there, leaning against the railing, with his arms crossed and his shoulders tight, was Dr. Park.

And Jaebeom met his eyes from the distance. Feeling everything pause around him. Noticing how Dr. Park wasn’t wearing his glasses and his hair was lower on his face, messy against his forehead. And he wasn’t dressed as professionally as he always was but instead in jeans and a sweater. Looking more like a twenty-five year old than Jaebeom had ever seen him look. But his eyes, locked onto Jaebeom’s, were unmistakably the same. Hard and dark, but even with the distance and the darkness, Jaebeom could see that glimmer of light shining in them. Matched only by the slight upturn of a corner of his lips. And something about it had Jaebeom wanting to jump off the stage and climb those steps and draw him into a bruising kiss.

But instead, Jaebeom looked away. His mind immediately trying to rectify it. Telling himself that it was just the rush of performing talking. And the unfamiliar location. And the sight of him looking younger than he ever had. And the anger towards him that still hadn’t cooled completely. Anger for craving something. For almost having had it. But for it to be always out of reach.

He finished the performance. Not letting himself look back over until the very end when he was bowing for the screaming crowd. And when his eyes returned, the railing was empty. No trace of him. Like maybe he had been a ghost all along.

\---

Jaebeom woke up first the next morning to his stomach growling loud. He remembered that he and Youngjae had been too tired to eat after coming back from show. Falling asleep right after their showers. So, he flicked through the room service menu on the bedside table, ordering a few things. He stayed in bed, reading until there was a knock at his door. He got up hastily, answering it and watching the hotel attendant bring in the cart and set it on the bistro table on their balcony. Thanking him in his meager attempt at French before watching him leave.

With the sudden noise, Youngjae roused, leaning up in bed. His hair messy and stuffed into the hood of his jacket. He looked over with squinted eyes.

“Morning,” Jaebeom said, going to take a seat on the balcony, pouring himself some orange juice.

“Is that breakfast?” Youngjae asked, his voice rough with sleep and his hand going to scratch his cheek.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking over the spread. “I didn’t know what you like so I got a little bit of everything.”

Youngjae got up, coming outside and sitting down at the table with him. He pushed his hood off his head, surveying the selection. He grabbed a couple things for his plate.

Jaebeom poured him a cup of juice and placed it down in front of him.

They ate in silence. Picking at the fruit and croissants and cheese that Jaebeom had ordered. Something about it not feeling awkward at all. But as Jaebeom watched Youngjae, he noticed the way the boy’s eyes seemed to keep drifting outwards over the balcony’s edge. Looking at their view. Watching it.

“Something wrong?” Jaebeom murmured.

“It’s just,” Youngjae sighed, sitting back in his chair with a huff. “I’m in Paris.”

“You are,” he agreed.

“This was always my dream,” the boy said, eyes keen on the cityscape. “And now I’m finally here. I’m practically across the street from the Louvre. And I’m stuck in a hotel room.” He laughed, but it was layered with disappointment. His eyes wistful.

Jaebeom looked down, watching the filtering of people on the street, thinking. He flattened his mouth into a thin line. He checked the time. “Get dressed,” he said. “Let’s go out.”

Youngjae snapped his head, looking back at him with eyes wide. “What?”

“You want to see Paris,” Jaebeom shrugged. “Let’s go see it.” He got up, taking off his t-shirt and going inside. He went to his luggage, starting to rummage for some day clothes.

Youngjae followed him inside. “You can’t. You’re busy. You need to go to therapy. And we fly out in a few hours.”

“I’ll skip,” Jaebeom shrugged. “And we’ll make the flight. We have plenty of time.”

“Skip therapy?” Youngjae questioned. “But won’t your therapist be mad?”

Jaebeom sighed, looking down at his clothes. Thinking back to Dr. Park leaning himself against the banister with hair in his eyes and a smirk against his handsome features. Each time the thought brought on less and less anger and more and more of something else he wasn’t ready to think about. “He’ll be mad no matter what.”

He looked up and caught Youngjae smiling wide.

“Come on,” Jaebeom said. “Get ready.”

\---

Less than twenty minutes later, they were buying admission tickets at the front gates of the Louvre. Youngjae was fidgeting slightly. Weighing himself between his feet as Jaebeom paid. The attendant handed them back their tickets and a map, showing them towards the entrance. As soon as they were in, Youngjae snatched the map from Jaebeom’s hands. He flipped it open furiously scanning it with his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Jaebeom asked.

“Room 77,” he said, suddenly. “Come on.” And he broke out into a run.

“Youngjae,” Jaebeom called after him but it was no use. He sighed and ran after him. Down a long hall, wall to wall marble. “We can’t run-“ he breathed. “It’s the Louvre for fuck’s sake-“

Youngjae didn’t seem listen, powering ahead. They took a sharp left, finding a rounded staircase. The clatter of their sneakers echoing across the polished surfaces. Youngjae ran into the first room ahead of them.

As Jaebeom entered it, he slowed, looking upwards. His heart racing in his chest from the run. The room was long and narrow. The walls were a deep scarlet color, leading upwards to gold moldings. A gridded glass ceiling stretched above their heads, the whole length of the room, flooding it with natural light.

Jaebeom kept admiring the room as he approached where Youngjae had stopped.

“This is it,” Youngjae breathed. “The Raft of Medusa.”

Jaebeom followed his eyes. The canvas was huge. Stretching at least ten feet above their heads and at least twenty feet across. Around the edges, darkened clouds and rough waves in shades of gray and white. But at the center, taking up the majority of the space was a clamoring of bodies. Layered against each other, a juxtaposition of muscle and soaked fabric and skin tones. Climbing over each other atop a wooden structure. Long warm beams haphazardly put together. A flag catching a strong wind.

“Why this one?” Jaebeom said, taking it all in.

Their eyes didn’t stray from the canvas as Youngjae started to talk. “When you look at it, who stands out?”

Jaebeom’s eyes swept over it. “No one.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice warm with a smile. “It’s different from a lot of the other works here because it’s not centered around specific characters but around a depiction of a real event.”

Jaebeom blinked. Sensing the chaos of the scene. “What happened?”

“The French navy were trying to sail to Senegal to colonize it. Bastards. And they ran aground. They hadn’t prepared enough lifeboats for everyone. So, the rich and privileged got first priority. For the rest of the passengers, the poor and the working class, they had the ship’s carpenter use the wood from the damaged ship to craft this raft. And the lifeboats were supposed to tow it to safety. But the raft was so big and had so many people that it was slowing them down. So, thinking only of themselves, they cut the line and let the raft drift out to sea.”

“That’s horrific,” Jaebeom grimaced.

“After almost two weeks, the raft was rescued. From the one-hundred and fifty passengers that boarded it, only about ten survived. The rest starved or were killed and cannibalized.”

“Geez.”

“But the artist. He painted this only three years after the event. And he did extensive research. He interviewed survivors about what it was like. He went to morgues and studied the coloring of corpses. He made a full-scale model of the raft in his studio. All in a desperate attempt to convey the madness that ensued.”

“It’s brutal,” Jaebeom sighed.

“It’s real,” Youngjae said. His voice full of wonder. “It’s what happened. It’s not looking to beautify the truth but show it for what it is.”

Jaebeom looked over at him. The way his face was trained on the painting. The light in his eyes, the way he was mystified.

Youngjae looked back over to him. He nodded. “That’s what I want my art to do too.”

And they looked at each other. Jaebeom felt unable to break away from the gaze. His chest filled with a breath. He blinked. Averting his eyes. “What’s your favorite part of it?” he asked, trying to redirect.

“You see here,” Youngjae pointed out.

And as he extended his arm, Jaebeom’s eyes followed the long line of it. His sleeve had pulled back slightly, unconsciously. And with the way it twisted in the natural light streaming in from above, Jaebeom’s eyes caught onto a glistening white stripe against the skin of his wrist. Sharp and tapering around the edges. And it took him a moment to realize that it was deep scar. He averted his eyes back towards the painting.

“The way the corner of the raft dips towards you,” Youngjae continued, not noticing how Jaebeom’s eyes lingered a moment too long. “It’s almost like you could step out onto it. It’s kind of beckoning you to board.”

Jaebeom tried to focus but his mind was elsewhere.

“Can you get a picture of me with it?” Youngjae asked, turning back towards him, pulling out his phone.

Jaebeom shook himself away from his thoughts. “Yeah, of course,” he said. He grabbed Youngjae’s phone, flipping the camera open.

Youngjae went to stand in front of the huge canvas. He smiled, holding up a peace sign by his face.

“JB?” a voice said.

And Jaebeom, instinctively turned towards it. A young girl, no more than twenty, crept towards him. Her face shy and soft. “Could I get a picture with you?” she said in English.

And Jaebeom’s eyes traveled upward. Three other people stood a dozen feet away, their phones raised close to their faces.

He felt his heartbeat pick up.

He looked back down to the girl’s face. It was young and kind and well intentioned. And he suddenly felt at a loss of what to do. Draw more attention to himself by taking a picture? Risk more people asking? Or turn her away and ruin her day?

The pressure of the decision was weighing on him. He felt his chest going heavy and his breaths speeding. He opened his mouth, unsure of what may come out.

“I’m so sorry,” Youngjae interrupted, stepping between them. “He actually needs to head out now. He has a flight to catch.” He grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers and pulling him away.

Jaebeom let himself be dragged, looking around to see how onlookers had begun to take notice of him.

Youngjae dragged him out of the room and back down the staircase.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, voice calm.

And Jaebeom couldn’t speak. He felt the anxiety creeping up his spine. Every face that looked at him felt loaded with expectation. As if they all knew who he was. As if they were all judgmental of the way he kept going.

Youngjae didn’t stop. They weaved through the crowded museum and out the exit. They continued walking out of the plaza and down the street.

And as the street started to clear, the distance between the clusters of people growing greater, Jaebeom felt that skip in his chest start to even out. “Youngjae,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Youngjae didn’t look up, he just kept his eyes forward on the street. “For what?”

Jaebeom sighed. “You didn’t get to see anything else. We were barely there for five minutes.”

Youngjae shook his head. “That’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Stop,” he tutted his teeth. “Let’s go grab a coffee and sit outside.”

Jaebeom nodded, looking down to their hands. The way they were still clasped together. The cool feeling of Youngjae's skin calming him.

Youngjae followed his gaze, suddenly detangling their fingers and letting his arm drop to his side. “Sorry,” he rushed to say, suddenly a bit awkward.

Jaebeom didn’t say anything. He just kept walking at his side.

They walked a few more blocks down, finding a café that was on the side of the road. Quiet and uncrowded, bistro tables lining the side of the street.

“Just relax and I’ll go get us coffee,” Youngjae said, taking out his wallet.

Jaebeom nodded, sitting himself down at a table. He let his breathing calm down. Pulled out a pair of sunglasses and pushed them up on his face. He tried to ground himself in the whipping of the summer breeze through the tablecloths.

Youngjae came out a few minutes later. “Here,” he said, putting a saucer down in front of him.

“Thanks.”

They sipped their coffee.

“Is it always like that?” Youngjae asked. “When you go places?”

Jaebeom sighed, looking down into his cup. “It didn’t used to be,” he shook his head. “But that’s the drawback of getting more famous. Every year, the venues get bigger and bigger. But my world feels like it gets smaller and smaller.”

Youngjae was quiet for a moment. “Like you're imprisoned.”

Jaebeom looked at Youngjae. The way his hair blew in the light breeze. The way he swirled his coffee with a spoon. And though the space between them was feeling oddly familiar, there were so many more questions he had. So, before he could think it over, he asked.

“What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Youngjae asked, looking up at him.

“I mean. You told me you used to do drugs,” Jaebeom took a sip, trying to seem nonchalant. “What happened?”

Youngjae paused. He looked up, squinting his eyes to the sky.

The sound of the scooters whizzing past, of French conversations at the other tables, of the birds that had perched themselves on the edge of iron railings hoping to catch a piece of pastry. It all filled the silence between them. As if words didn’t need to be said.

Youngjae took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s such a beautiful day,” he said.

Jaebeom sat quiet.

Youngjae licked his lips, looking back at him. “I don’t want to ruin it by talking about that.”

Jaebeom swallowed. Something in his stomach churning. Thinking back to the glinting scars in the museum light. Realizing that he barely knew Youngjae, but he could see that play between sadness and hopefulness in him. The scars on his wrist had told a story of someone who had been hopelessly lost enough to try and end it all. A story Jaebeom understood better than most.

But the way Youngjae had looked at the painting told an entirely different story. He looked at the painting like the whole world, even those brutal, dark parts like the suffering of those on that raft, were overflowing with unseen wonder and beauty. And somewhere, deep below the surface, in a part of himself that he refused to bring to light, Jaebeom wished someone would look at him like that. And not just when he was on a stage or photoshopped on a magazine cover but when he was just existing just like the painting had been.

He licked his lips. “Look, Youngjae,” Jaebeom sighed. “You don’t have to go to the shows.”

“What do you mean?” Youngjae looking back at him.

“I mean you hate going to them,” Jaebeom argued.

“I don’t hate your shows,” Youngjae dropped his shoulders. “I’m just not big on crowds. Or loud places. Or dark places.”

“I rest my case.”

Youngjae whined. “But it’s literally my job to make sure you're being watched at all times. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” he glowered. “But the staff literally walk me right off the stage and they are at my side until I’m literally at the door of my hotel room. Do you really think they are gonna let me do anything?”

Youngjae was silent for a moment, considering that.

“So why don’t we just part before the show starts and you go off and do whatever you do, and I meet you back in the room after the show.” Jaebeom held up his hand. “Deal?”

Youngjae looked down at it. He seemed to think for a while. Face full of thoughts. But at some point, the space between his brows relaxed and the thoughts seemed to dissipate. He nodded, reaching out to shake on it. “Deal.”

“Let’s head back,” Jaebeom sighed. “I’m sure they’ll be wondering where we went.”

\---

“How could you be so irresponsible?” Mark shouted. He had cornered Jaebeom in his room and sent Youngjae out into the hall. He was pacing back and forth. His brows furrowed and his hands fisted.

“Mark,” Jaebeom sighed from his spot on the bed. “It’s fine. We just wanted to go sightsee a bit. We’re in Paris for fuck’s sake.”

“But you didn’t tell anyone. And you didn’t take any staff with you. And you skipped out on therapy,” Mark named each offense off on his fingers.

“It’s fine. We were fine,” Jaebeom shook his head. “We didn’t get mauled. Barely anyone noticed us.”

“Barely?” Mark scoffed. “It only takes one, Jaebeom. You know how fast word can spread. And a photo can be taken and five minutes later, half the world has seen it. You know how people are these days. They don’t ask questions. They make judgements. And those judgements have infinite consequences that you can’t even imagine.” Mark breathed, running a hand through his hair. “And who has to deal with all of that? Who has to protect you from it?”

Jaebeom looked up at him. The way his face seemed red with anger. And in the moment, he saw Mark as the man who’d been protective over him from day one. Who had promised to never use him or exploit him. Who knew that he had already spent the first four years of his career trying to escape someone who had.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, hyung,” Jaebeom said. “I was being short sighted. I could have handled it better.”

Mark looked back at him. A bit of surprise in his eyes. Like he hadn’t expected the apology. He blinked back. Sitting down next to him. When he spoke next, his voice was low. “Did you guys do anything?” he said, almost under his breath

“Like what?” Jaebeom questioned. His mind immediately tumbling down rabbit holes of suggestion.

“Like drugs.”

Jaebeom sighed hard. “No, hyung,” he shook his head. “The kid is as sober as they come. I doubt he even takes cold medicine.”

“I just had to ask,” Mark shrugged.

“Yeah, well you have your answer,” Jaebeom ran a hand through his hair.

“There’s the other issue to discuss,” Mark said. He paused. “You need to talk to Dr. Park.”

Jaebeom groaned. “I don’t want to talk to that asshole.”

“Jaebeom,” Mark raised his voice. “You are the one who requested he come on this tour. You were the one who was so eager to have him. Now, I don’t know what happened between you two but if the company knows that you fired him, how’s that going to look?”

Jaebeom sat, considering. Knowing that he had put Mark in a bad place. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Room 409,” Mark noted, getting up.

“How do you always know that off the top of your head?” Jaebeom narrowed his eyes at him.

“It’s my job to know, Jaebeom,” he headed for the door. “Go now. We have to leave for the airport in an hour.”

\---

When the door opened, Dr. Park’s eyes didn’t look surprised. If anything, they looked as placid as ever. Which elicited that sinking feeling in Jaebeom that felt too much like disappointment.

“Hey,” Jaebeom said. “Can I come in?”

Dr. Park nodded. “Of course,” he said, opening the door for him.

Jaebeom took a seat on the couch, looking across at Dr. Park as he sat down. His eyes trained on his face.

The silence around them felt too much to bear. “I saw you at the show,” Jaebeom said.

Dr. Park’s shoulders seemed to tighten imperceptibly. “I went and watched for a while,” he said simply.

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem the type for those kinds of shows.”

“I’m not,” Dr. Park shook his head.

“Then why’d you go?” he asked. Needing to know. Desperately trying to piece him together.

Dr. Park raised a brow. “Guess I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And?”

Dr. Park shrugged. “You’re good at what you do,” he nodded. “I can see how you’ve amassed a following.”

That silence fell back between them as Jaebeom didn’t know how to respond. The compliment felt forced and he wasn’t willing to accept it under such circumstances. He tangled his fingers together in his lap. Knowing what needed to be said but not knowing how to say it. “I’m sorry for skipping today,” he said. “And for walking out yesterday.” He flicked his eyes up towards the doctor.

Dr. Park was looking back. His eyes hard. Almost pained.

Jaebeom took a breath. Continuing. “I just,” he started. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

Dr. Park swallowed. “I can see that.”

“But,” he licked his lips. “I wasn’t entitled to know about your personal life. It’s not my business.”

“You’re right,” Dr. Park agreed, his voice firm.

“I’m just…” his voice trailed off, thinking.

_I’m just trying to read you as hard as you are trying to read me. And I think there’s something there. Sometimes. But sometimes, I’m not sure. I feel like I’m drowning, not knowing whether you are thinking the same thing._

He held his tongue. Knowing that his internal monologue was too direct. Too honest. “I’m just trying to figure out what this dynamic looks like. And I’m feeling a bit confused.”

“I’m your therapist,” Dr. Park said. “You’re my patient. We don’t need anything more than that.”

Jaebeom should have anticipated it but something about how blunt the wording was had him hurting in that same place as when he learned that the man was married. But there was no use rushing to anger as it hadn’t gotten him anywhere last time.

“I know. I guess,” Jaebeom sighed, jaggedly. Not being sure of the words but saying them anyway. “I was mistaking emotional vulnerability for something else. Because I’m not used to giving it so easily.” He didn’t dare say what the something else was.

Dr. Park nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“But I’m not going to make that mistake anymore,” Jaebeom nodded. “And I’m going to just try and be honest with you. Cause I know now that that’s what you wanted from me. Not… anything else.”

“I appreciate that,” Dr. Park said. “How about we start fresh in Madrid?”

Jaebeom looked at him. Wishing more than anything he could find the glimmer again. Prove to himself that it wasn’t a trick of the light. But there was nothing about Dr. Park that glimmered anymore. He was just a doctor.

“Okay,” Jaebeom nodded. “Madrid, it is.”

“You should go,” Dr. Park licked his lips. “I’m sure you have to get ready for the airport.”

They both got up, walking themselves to the door. Jaebeom’s hand went for the handle, before looking back at the doctor. “I’ll see you in Madrid, Dr. Park,” he said. Trying to make his tone as even as possible. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Dr. Park swallowed. His eyes open and still. “As am I,” he said.

And Jaebeom twisted the door open and walked back down the hallway. Feeling that itch of detox fear creep up a little higher.


	4. Madrid

They landed in Madrid midday, going to the venue to do soundcheck and prepare for the show. The crew was hanging the lighting rigs while Jaebeom and Youngjae sat low in the seats, propping their feet up on the chairs in front of them and watching.

“Sometimes, I just kind of want them to drop it,” Jaebeom murmured, his arms folded against his chest.

Youngjae huffed, pulling his hood up around his face. “You’re awful.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” he shrugged. “But something that would cost the company some money. Postpone the show. Take the attention off me for a moment.”

“Something like that happened in my hometown when I was a kid,” Youngjae offered. “It was at a festival in the summer. Right on the water. Part of the stage collapsed. Two stagehands got caught underneath and were crushed.”

“Were you there?” Jaebeom looked over at him.

“Hell no,” Youngjae scoffed. “I was in an art lesson. My teacher’s sister had been there when it happened though. I remember her getting a phone call. It freaked her out.”

“Where’s your hometown?”

Youngjae took in a breath. He looked over. “Mokpo,” he said.

Jaebeom smirked. “Southern boy,” he crooned.

“Yeah, what of it?” he huffed.

“Is that why you're so tough?” Jaebeom leaned over, putting his chin in his hand.

“You better hope you never find out how tough I am.”

And they both laughed, Jaebeom watching him. The sound of Youngjae’s laugh making him feel light-headed in the same way the drugs always did.

“Hyung!” Yugyeom called from the stage. Waving him to come up.

“Duty calls,” Jaebeom sighed.

Youngjae looked at the clock on his phone. “I think I’m going to head out,” he said. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Oh,” Jaebeom perked, remembering. “I was supposed to tell you this, but all the staff are meeting up at a restaurant after the show.”

“What?” Youngjae questioned. “Why?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “Staff dinner. Mark said it’s been too long since all of us has eaten together.”

“Hyung!” Yugyeom called again. His hip jutted to one side in annoyance. Jackson and the other dancers looked onwards. “Hurry up! We got to go over those formations again.”

“Gimme a second!” he yelled back at them. He turned back to Youngjae, “I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay,” Youngjae rose from his seat, turning to wave as he walked himself up the aisle toward the exit. “Have a good show.”

“Thanks, Youngjae,” Jaebeom smiled, watching him as he left.

“Hyung!” Yugyeom whined again.

Jaebeom groaned, turning. “God damn it. I’m coming!”

\---

After the show, Jaebeom and the crew taxied to the restaurant a few blocks down from their hotel. Mark checked them in at the hostess stand before they were escorted to a private dining room in the back of the restaurant. The room was dimly lit, candles aligned down a long and narrow table that cut through the center with enough chairs on either side to fit everyone. But Jaebeom was surprised to see Youngjae already sitting patiently near one end of the table.

“You’re early,” Jaebeom smiled, walking up to him.

“I was at a movie and came afterward,” Youngjae shrugged, turning towards him in his seat.

“A movie?” Jaebeom cocked his brow. “Was it in Korean?”

“No,” Youngjae shook his head. “Spanish. I didn’t understand a goddamn word. But I think I got the gist of it.”

“You’re crazy,” Jaebeom laughed out loud. “Who are you sitting next to?”

Youngjae shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I…?” Jaebeom asked, his voice trailing off as he pointed to the seat next to him.

Youngjae shook his head. “Please.”

“You promise you aren’t sick of me yet?” Jaebeom smiled, taking a seat.

“Not yet,” Youngjae grinned. “But I’ll keep you updated.”

“Hyung!” a voice called loud and Jaebeom turned to see Jackson running up. “I’m sitting next to you.”

Jaebeom smirked. “No, you can’t,” he shook his head. “You still smell like your stage clothes.”

“I do not,” Jackson rolled his eyes, taking the seat next to him. “Where’s the waiter? We are going to need a few bottles of that good Spanish wine for the table.”

Jaebeom swallowed, suddenly feeling a tiny flush against his cheeks at the mention of alcohol. He hadn’t considered that. Staff dinners normally involved a fair amount of heavy drinking. Usually with whatever the local drink of choice was. And Jaebeom wasn’t even a big wine drinker but he felt his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of a glass of red wine and how his head would feel a bit lighter after a glass or two. He licked his lips. Suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He felt a hand on his leg under the table. Cool and soft against his jeans. He looked up into Youngjae’s face. His eyes bright and wide. Oddly grounding. As if they could make Jaebeom forget there was anyone else in the room.

“How was the show?” Youngjae asked, leaning in towards him.

Jaebeom took a deep breath, pulling himself from his thoughts in an effort to be present. He shrugged. “Same shit, different country,” he smiled a little.

“We get it. You hate your job,” Youngjae mocked.

The waiter came between them, leaning a bottle of wine towards Youngjae’s glass.

The boy rushed, covering the top of it. “None for me,” he protested, smiling up at the waiter.

The man nodded, shifting instead to Jaebeom’s empty glass.

Jaebeom shook his head. “I’m okay, thank you.”

The waiter didn’t hesitate, just continued moving down the line, going to pour Jackson’s glass.

Jaebeom looked back to Youngjae. “You don’t drink?” he asked, reaching out for his glass of water. In his peripherals, seeing the way that Jackson and Yugyeom cheered the waiter to keep pouring until their wine glasses were nearly to the brim.

“I do sometimes,” Youngjae nodded. “But alcohol was never a problem for me. And I don’t want to make you feel like you’re the only one not drinking.”

“I’m okay,” Jaebeom insisted. “You can drink if you want.”

Youngjae shook his head. “No,” he said. “it’s not a big deal. And I want you to feel comfortable.” His eyes looked back. Serious.

And Jaebeom looked at him. Seeing how unwavering he was. And it was such a simple gesture, but it had Jaebeom feeling like it was more. “Thanks,” he smiled. He took a deep breath. “So,” he said. “Tell me about that movie you saw.”

After the main course wrapped, the waiter started bringing dessert around. A few different options to choose from, he offered each of them a plate. 

“Ooo. What is that one?” Youngjae leaned over, eyeing Jaebeom’s plate.

Jaebeom inspected it in the low light. “It’s like a chocolate cake thing, I think,” he said. “You wanna try it?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae nodded.

Jaebeom scooped a bite onto his spoon, leaning over to hand it off to the boy.

But when his spoon got close, Youngjae reached his lips around the metal, closing around it. Jaebeom’s eyes trained on the way they curled, soft and shining with a hint of saliva. The moment feeling slower than it was.

Youngjae pulled off. He looked back, wide eyed. A hand going to cover his mouth. “That was weird. I’m so sorry,” he rushed to say, a blush forming at his ears. “Bad habit. From eating with um… friends an-”

And Jaebeom was surprised for a moment before he started to laugh, causing Youngjae to pause mid sentence. “Youngjae,” he shook his head. “It’s fine.” He grinned. “Here,” he said. “Let me try yours.”

And Youngjae’s blush seemed dissipate slightly. He smiled. Scooping his own flan onto his spoon before leaning over and placing it in Jaebeom’s open mouth.

Jaebeom closed his lips around it, pulling off and tasting the sweet custard. “It’s good,” he laughed, watching the way Youngjae’s face bloomed in response.

Jaebeom looked up, his eyes drifting unconsciously down the other side of the long table. And somehow, they found Dr. Park staring back at him. The doctor’s eyes dark as he spun the contents of his wine glass in his hand. And even in the dim lighting of the dining room, by candlelight more than anything, Jaebeom could see it. The glimmer of his eyes. Sparks coming to life. Perhaps stronger than any other time he’d seen it. And it had the sweetness turning to ash in Jaebeom’s mouth. His smile dropping along with his stomach. That warm hit of testosterone curling inside of him.

And Youngjae must have noticed because the boy put another cool hand to his thigh. “What’s wrong?”

And Jaebeom looked back, seeing his eyes open with concern. He swallowed. “Nothing,” he said, clipped. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go to the bathroom.” He pulled his chair away, putting his napkin onto the table and getting up. Weaving himself out of the dining room and down the hall towards the bathroom.

He was washing his hands when he heard the sound of the door opening. And kept his eyes down, not wanting to look up into the mirror. He could feel the heat pricking along his neck as he imagined Dr. Park behind him. Waiting for him to turn around. Imagining that glimmer in his eyes catching in the low, sultry light of the bathroom. And how he would push him up against the wall and slot between his legs and-

“Hyung,” a voice whined. “I was looking for you.”

Jaebeom turned, seeing Jackson leaned up against the wall. His arms folded over his chest and his lower lip jutted out in a mock pout.

And it wasn’t who he had expected to see, nor who he wanted to see. And that sinking disappointed feeling was at it again, settling into his stomach. “Here I am,” Jaebeom sighed. 

“Ugh,” Jackson scoffed. “I’ve wanted to talk to you all night. But that boy. God, he won’t even let you look away from him.”

“You mean Youngjae?” Jaebeom asked, wondering distantly if that was true. If his eyes had been fixated on Youngjae the whole night. But surely, that couldn’t be right. As Jaebeom had also seen Dr. Park as well. Albeit later.

“Him,” Jackson snapped his fingers. He huffed. “Remember what we said on his first day? In Berlin. We all joked. We all thought he looked so innocent. But he can’t be. There’s no way.”

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, hyung,” Jackson shook his head. “Something about him. I just don’t trust him.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “And you’ve always been a great judge of character.”

“I mean, I’m friends with you, right?” Jackson offered.

“My point exactly.”

Jackson gave a small smirk. “Look,” he drew himself closer until he had his hands on either side of Jaebeom, bracing against the bathroom counter. “I just miss you, hyung. I miss having fun with you.”

From this close, Jaebeom could see the way his pupils were dilated and how his breath reeked of wine. The smell of it had him twisting his face in disgust. He scoffed. “Jacks, you’re drunk.”

Jackson leaned himself in, letting their knees knock together and their chests brush. “Like that ever stopped you before.”

Jaebeom splayed his fingers against his chest, gently keeping him at bay. “Well, it’s not the same when you’re the sober one.”

“Then, take this,” Jackson said, hand delving into the pocket of his track jacket and pulling out a small bag. A half dozen white tablets shifted around inside.

Jaebeom felt his heart race a little. His eyes watching the way the tablets moved. And it had been a few weeks, but he could immediately remember that feeling of biting down on them.

He took a quick breath. Suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. “Jackson, no.”

Jackson scoffed. “Just take them, hyung,” he said. “Keep them. Just in case. You never know when you’ll need them. A gift from your favorite dancer.”

“Youngjae will find them,” Jaebeom tried to come up with an excuse. “He’ll tell Mark. The company-”

Jackson shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’s suspicious. He’s hiding something. I know it. But he won’t tell.”

Jaebeom drew in a breath, feeling uncomfortable. His chest going tight. Eyes unable to stray from the sight of them. To think, they were just in reach. That he could easily grab them and stuff them down his throat and long gone would be the thoughts of Dr. Park’s glimmering eyes or Youngjae’s sweet laugh.

Jackson must have watched the hesitation play out on his face. “Hold onto them,” he said as he shoved the small bag into the front pocket of Jaebeom’s jeans. “And when you take them, come and find me. And I’ll make them taste the way they used to.” He pat against the pocket before drawing back and walking out of the bathroom.

Jaebeom finally let out a breath but it only made his chest stir more. A trembling in his heart. The ultra-conscious feeling of the pills in his pocket. He tried to slow himself down. Collect himself before returning.

Jaebeom walked back to his seat, feeling the way Dr. Park’s eyes followed him as soon as he entered the room. When he sat down, he reached for his shoulder bag under the table. Pulling something out and unwrapping it and putting it in his mouth. Letting it roll around and settle between his teeth.

Youngjae sniffed the air, looking over at him. “Are those plum candies?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom said, still shaken. Still feeling the way the pills seemed to be burning a hole in his front pocket.

“Those are my favorite,” Youngjae smiled. “Do you have any more?”

Jaebeom nodded, grabbing another from his bag and handing it over. Unable to meet anyone’s eyes anymore. To occupied by his own aching.

After dinner, the staff walked back to the hotel. Arms around shoulders. Wavering slightly along the Spanish sidewalk. When Mark and Jaebeom and Youngjae got off the elevator at the same floor, Mark wished them off. The few glasses of red wine staining his pointed smile. “Remember,” he called towards Jaebeom. “Your London show isn’t tomorrow. It’s the next day.”

Jaebeom groaned. “Remind me why again,” he blinked, his head still rushing with other thoughts.

“Tomorrow, we fly into London, but then we are driving out of the city. You’re doing the magazine shoot for that British fashion magazine. They chose to do it on location at some random hotel in the country. So, we’ll stay there for a night and then return to London the next day for the show,” Mark rambled, nearly not making sense. “Clear?”

“Right, right,” Jaebeom nodded, he held a thumbs up. “Got it. We’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Mark hyung!” Youngjae called, waving.

Jaebeom shifted towards him as they took off down the hall towards their room. “Hyung?” he asked, voice low.

Youngjae shrugged. “He told me I can call him hyung.”

And Jaebeom just blinked as Youngjae sped ahead, before falling into place behind him.

\---

Jaebeom was the first to wake up the next morning. His mind didn’t even let him have a moment before his thoughts were fixated on those pills in the front pocket of his jeans where they were strewn on the floor. He got up, taking small, quiet steps as to avoid waking Youngjae. He took the bag from his pocket, careful not to crinkle the plastic, and moved it into the depths of his shoulder bag.

He sat himself on the floor. Sighing raggedly. Raking his hands through his hair. Thinking that something about having the pills should have felt good. Like he had an easy escape for if things got too difficult. But it didn’t. And ever since Jackson had shoved them in his pocket, they’d felt like a heavy burden that was weighing on his mind.

He shook it off. Getting dressed. Leaving a note on Youngjae’s nightstand that said he was going to therapy. And a few minutes later, he was back facing Dr. Park. A plum candy between his teeth.

“How was dinner?” Dr. Park asked. His fingers massaging his temple. A tinge of deep purple under his eyes.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Jaebeom smirked. “Are you hungover?”

Dr. Park sighed. “Your staff really know how to drink.”

“Not so difficult to see how I ended up with a problem, is it?”

“It was never difficult,” Dr. Park shook his head.

Jaebeom pulled his lips tight, not sure if he should take offense.

“I saw your dancer follow you to the bathroom,” Dr. Park said, looking back at him. Suddenly more serious.

Jaebeom thought back to standing over the sink and thinking it would be Dr. Park behind him. That disappointed feeling that had washed over him when it wasn’t. “Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jackson.”

Dr. Park raised his brows. “He seemed pretty out of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he… talk to you or…?” Dr. Park rolled his hands, trying to get Jaebeom to elaborate.

Jaebeom shook his head. “He was just looking for a good time. But I wasn’t interested last night.”

“But previously,” the doctor said, slowly. “You had shown interest?”

Jaebeom shifted in his seat, feeling awkward. “I mean yeah,” his face drew up on one side. “Stuff used to happen. We’d get fucked up and have a little fun. But just that. Nothing serious.”

Dr. Park chose his words carefully. “Do you still want that to happen?”

“It’s,” Jaebeom hesitated. Feeling uncomfortable no matter how he sat. Tangling fingers together in his lap. “It wasn’t like that. It was just friends having fun.”

“Did he know that?”

Jaebeom paused. Thinking. “We never really talked about it, I guess,” he shrugged. “I didn’t think we had to.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Park hummed, making a note. “What about your sober companion?”

Jaebeom perked up. “What about him?”

“What’s his name?” Dr. Park narrowed his eyes.

Jaebeom took a breath. “Youngjae,” he scratched behind his ear.

“And how are you two getting along?”

“Fine,” Jaebeom said. “I mean,” he paused. “We spend a lot of time together. So, we kind of have to.”

“So, you’ve…” Dr. Park raised an eyebrow. “…been bonding with him?

He sighed. “You could say that.”

“You both looked…” Dr. Park thought for a moment. “Comfortable with each other last night.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Comfortable is a good word.”

“Any other word you’d use?”

Jaebeom pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he shook his head. “He kinda just makes me feel like I’m just another person. And that’s refreshing.”

“Mark had said you weren’t keen on the idea of a sober companion when the idea was brought up,” he tapped his pen against the edge of his notepad. “Have you warmed up to it?”

Jaebeom thought to the way that Youngjae’s cool hands always seemed to calm his racing heart. And how his smile made him feel dizzy without the haze of drugs. The juxtaposition of the scars on the wrists and the light in his eyes. How he wanted to know more about how those two feelings could exist in just one person. “Yeah,” Jaebeom said. “I have.”

“I think London will be fun for everyone,” Dr. Park offered. “Staff gets some time off while you get to do your photoshoot.”

“What are you going to do with the free time?” Jaebeom asked, desperate to get out of his head.

Dr. Park paused before speaking. “I’d like to see Westminster Abbey. There’s some scientists and writers buried there that I’d like to see,” he nodded.

Jaebeom felt the question coming up his throat and he considered swallowing it back down. But he felt too desperate to fill the silence that there was no other choice. “Have you been updating your spouse about your world travels?”

Dr. Park closed his notepad. “Yes,” he said simply.

Jaebeom sighed. Feeling that longing to break him open and know what’s inside. “I’m sure they wish they were here experiencing it with you,” he twisted his hands together.

Dr. Park smiled down to his hands. “I keep telling them that next time, we can do it together.”

Jaebeom felt that sinking disappointment. Not knowing what he should have expected. He looked back to Dr. Park. He was cold and mysterious and overly professional. But he had an undeniable strength to him. Like nothing scared him. Like he’d protect those he loved to the end of the line. And it had the hole in Jaebeom aching around the edges. “You must be such a good husband.”

And Dr. Park looked a little off guard. His eyes flicking up to Jaebeom. The corner of his mouth pulling a fragment upwards. And just a blip of warmth spilling into his eyes. “It’s easy to be good,” he said, voice low. “When you find the people worth being good for.”

And everything about it had Jaebeom aching for more. And he didn’t even know what that ‘more’ was, but he had a feeling like he would never be complete without it.


	5. London

They landed midday. The majority of the crew and dancers driving into the city while Mark, Jaebeom, Youngjae, and a handful of other staff took a van westward deep into the country.

It turned out that the hotel Mark had spoken of hadn’t been like their idea of a hotel at all. When their van pulled up, the building that stood before them was a castle. Green ivy climbing up the stone walls and a grand set of stairs leading up to the entrance. “You gotta be kidding,” Jaebeom murmured under his breath.

Youngjae roused from his side, pulling headphones out of his ears and looking out the window. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “This is some Pride and Prejudice shit.”

Once they had climbed the stairs, the magazine staff had ushered Jaebeom away. Saying something about the rain killing their prime light time and the need to hurry. Thirty minutes later, Jaebeom was out of hair and makeup and into his first outfit. They were positioning him along a veranda that seemed to wrap around the whole building. It overlooked the hotel’s manicured gardens. A labyrinth of hedges and flower beds that shone blue green under the cloudy English sky.

The stylists flitted about him, ruffling his hair for the umpteenth time and adjusting his sweater on his broad shoulders. They had him in shiny vinyl pants with pointed boots and a fuzzy sweater. A mix of textures that felt awkward on his body in comparison to his usual comfortable clothes. “Okay,” the photographer said, coming forward to speak to Jaebeom. “We’ll do a couple of test shots and see if we need to adjust.”

Jaebeom looked over to Mark at the side, letting him translate for him.

An assistant handed the camera off to the photographer and she started to take shots. The rhythmic sound of the clicking shutter reverberating as the room fell quiet to watch.

The sound grated against Jaebeom’s ears. And when he looked out across the room and saw everyone’s placid faces staring back, he felt overly conscious. He tried to lean up against the concrete ledge, sliding his hands into his pockets. But as the camera continued to click, he found it hard to look into the lens too long. Something welling up inside him that didn’t feel right. And all those questions coming into his mind. What were they thinking? Was he disappointing them? Did he look as awkward as he felt? Were the shots even going to be usable? And as they ruminated, he felt that beat in chest kick up. The fever creep up his spine.

And he hated it, hated it more than anything, when the first place his head went was to his shoulder bag that he could see on the floor under the vanity from here. To the little plastic bag with those half dozen white tablets. He would only need a minute. A quick trip to the restroom. And he could have them. And no one would notice. Not Mark. Not Youngjae.

“Let’s take a quick break,” the photographer said. “And JB,” she called. “Loosen up a bit. You look tense.”

He looked to Mark, whose eyes went heavy when he translated. Like he knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

And the comment only had his heart racing faster. He went inside. Watching the staff flitter about, adjusting light boxes and display cords. His eye falling on that bag under the vanity. His mouth feeling dry. A minute was all he needed.

“What’s wrong?”

Jaebeom turned and saw Youngjae there. His eyes wide with concern.

Jaebeom looked back at him. His mouth hanging open. Unable to form the words.

“Come on,” Youngjae said, grabbing his hand. He dragged him out of the room. 

And as he was dragged, Jaebeom saw eyes of the staff following them, holding a question in their expressions.

Youngjae pulled him out the front doors of the hotel, leading him down the stone staircase. He sat him down on the steps. “Tell me,” he said, his eyes trained on his face.

Jaebeom sighed. Hesitating around the words a fraction of a second before letting them tumble out. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he choked out. “I feel so awkward. I feel like they hate what I’m doing.”

Youngjae twisted his mouth up. “How did you do it before?”

Jaebeom ran his hands through his hair, feeling the tack of the product. “You know how.”

Youngjae let out a breath. Looking down for a moment. His eyes glazed as heavy thoughts plagued his soft features. “Don’t pose for them,” he finally said, shaking his head.

Jaebeom looked up. “What do you mean? That’s what they are paying me to do. You want me to walk out on the shoot?”

Youngjae sighed, rolling his shoulders. He looked up at him. “Get up there. But don’t pose for them. Pose for me. I’ll draw you.”

Jaebeom’s eyebrows furrowed. Confused.

“Don’t think about them. Just keep moving. And focus on me,” the boy nodded. His eyes going serious. He reached out, grabbing Jaebeom’s hand. “Okay?”

And Jaebeom took a deep breath, feeling the way his whole body calmed at Youngjae’s cool touch. How he grounded himself in the sureness of his eyes. That shoulder bag under the vanity a million miles from his thoughts. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Come on,” Youngjae stood back up, walking Jaebeom up the stairs, their hands still clasped together.

As soon as they walked back in, the photographer was looking up from her conversation. “There you are,” she said. “Are you ready?”

Jaebeom looked to Youngjae.

The boy’s eyes bright even under the cloudy skies. “Pose for me,” he whispered. He squeezed his hand, before letting it fall. Walking himself to the corner.

Jaebeom turned back towards the photographer, nodding and walking back out to the veranda to take his position again. He looked up. Youngjae was flipping his sketch book to an open page. He rummaged through his bag, pulling out a pencil and sharpening the tip. He held it over his paper, looking up. And their eyes met. Youngjae nodded.

And Jaebeom kept his eyes as he leaned up against the bannister, his elbows resting against the edge. He tilted his head back and looking down the line of his sharp nose.

Youngjae’s eyes brightened as his pencil began to move, great long strokes.

“Yes,” the photographer murmured, clicking her camera distantly. “That’s it.” She continued to snap. “Now drop your left shoulder a little more.”

Jaebeom heard the direction but he was so focused on Youngjae that he couldn’t separate the two and he heard it like it was coming from the boy instead. He complied, dropping his shoulder towards the camera and looking up towards those dreary English skies.

“Perfect,” the photographer said, and it felt like Youngjae calling him perfect. “Keep moving. Just like that.”

And when Jaebeom shifted again, letting his eyes flick over to Youngjae, the smile across the boy’s face was bright enough to chase even the darkest clouds away.

\---

The photoshoot wrapped after a couple of hours. And the staff drew him back inside, ushering him to a monitor to show off the shots. They looked good. Black and white. The mix between the soft setting and the harsh fabrics. His face lackadaisical and his broad shoulders firm. The photographer patted him on the back. “Good work,” she said. “Not a bad shot in the bunch.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “It looks great.”

He changed out of his outfit, hanging it back up for the stylists and running his hands through his stale hair. He bowed low to everyone, thanking them for their hard work. But when they started packing up all the equipment, his first instinct was to find Youngjae. Some time when he’d been monitoring the shots, the boy had disappeared from his corner.

“Good job,” Mark came up to him, drawing him in. “It went perfect.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jaebeom smiled, hugging him. “Hey,” he asked. “Did you see where Youngjae went?”

Mark licked his lips. “God,” he huffed. “You turn into a lost puppy when he’s not around.”

“Hyung, please,” Jaebeom scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” Mark shrugged. He gave a sigh. “This whole time, I thought Dr. Park was going to be the problem. But I guess, I was wrong, huh? I mean. If you're really going to be out looking to blow some steam off, I guess it's better than the drugs.”

Jaebeom fell silent. Looking back at him with dark eyes. “I’m not talking to you about this. Are you gonna tell me where he is or what?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I saw him heading into the parlor,” he pointed towards the next room. “Does he ever put down that sketch pad?”

Jaebeom didn’t answer, he just hit Mark’s shoulder, thanking him before heading into the next room.

The parlor was everything the name held. Rich draped fabrics and lush carpets. Shades of gold and cream. Rich dark wood bannisters overhead. He found Youngjae sitting on an antique chaise. His knees drawn up and his sketch pad in his lap.

The boy looked up, noticing him. His face widening in a smile. “You did so good,” he said. “I saw some of the shots. They look awesome.”

“Thank you,” Jaebeom nodded, sitting down at the edge of the chaise. Feeling the desire to stretch out alongside Youngjae but holding back. “Honestly, I’m more excited about what you have to show me.”

Youngjae tutted his tongue behind his teeth. “It’s just a sketch. It’s not a big deal.”

Jaebeom smiled. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Youngjae handed over the sketch pad.

Jaebeom looked down into the graphite strokes. His eyes taking it in. It was texture of his hair that first caught his eye. A ruffled smattering of shading and negative space. Crosshatching along where his hair was short on the sides. Framing the sharp angles of his face. The way his cheekbones caught the light while the concaves were carved with dustings of gray. The contrast of his throat and where his Adam’s apple curved into the straight, broad line of his shoulders. They drew inwards, tapering the rest of his frame. The mix of textures somehow coming through so strong that Jaebeom felt like he was touching them all over again. 

And Jaebeom had seen pictures of himself sure. But this felt different. To know that each of his features weren’t just a camera’s reflection of light in a sensor but collected by human eyes and recreated by hand. As if it was rewriting him into something different than he was. Something more real.

“That’s crazy,” Jaebeom whispered under his breath. Unable to look up. “How do you do that?”

Youngjae shrugged in his peripheral vision. “You make for a good subject.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. “Can I keep this?” he said.

Youngjae’s lips drew up into a wide smile. “Of course,” he said, a little nervous. “It’s you. It’s yours.”

And Jaebeom looked back down. Catching new details every time.

\---

They had their dinner with Mark and the others. The hotel staff lighting the fireplace in the great room while they ate. And after dinner, they huddled around the heat. Exchanging stories and jokes. Heartfelt laughter filling the room. And every once in a while, Jaebeom would look over to Youngjae. His face lit warmly by the light of the fire. And he would hear Mark’s words echoing in his head.

_You turn into a lost puppy when he’s not around._

And Youngjae would look over, their eyes meeting. The laugh in the boy’s throat dying down. And Jaebeom would think that maybe Mark was right. Maybe everything was starting to feel a little lost without him around.

At some point in the night, some of their eyes were more closed than opened and they all surrendered, retreating to their bedrooms. Youngjae and Jaebeom climbing the creaky wood stairs to their room. It was just as garishly decorated as every other part of the castle. The two beds dressed in golden embroidered quilts. Each of the bedframes crafted from rich wood, baring four posts that hung cream canopies over either of them.

They changed into their pajamas, crawling into their respective beds and turning out the light.

And it had to be about twenty minutes before Youngjae was the one to break the silence.

“I can’t sleep,” he sighed into the night.

“Me neither,” Jaebeom agreed. Thinking maybe it was because he hadn’t had a concert to work out all of his excess energy. Or maybe the time zones had finally caught up with him. Or maybe he was still reeling from the way Youngjae’s hand had felt in his. He sat up, throwing the blankets off. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Youngjae raised himself up on his forearms. Lit only by the moonlight coming in through the window. “Where are you going?”

“You’re supposed to follow me, right?” Jaebeom said, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his bag, throwing it across his body. “So, follow me.” He left out the door of the room.

From the hallway, he could hear Youngjae make a disgruntled sound. The shuffling of him getting up. The door opened. “Where are we going?” the boy sighed.

“That’s more like it,” Jaebeom smiled.

They walked down the back steps of the hotel, through the garden. Finding a stony path that weaved through a thick area of trees. When they emerged, a lake sat before them. So large they could barely see the trees on the other side. Smooth enough to see the unrippled reflection of the moon hanging above. The buzz of the bugs and the still summer air filling their ears and lungs. 

Jaebeom looked out at it, stilled by how untouched it was in comparison to the flood of cityscapes that painted his day to day. He took a few steps, nearing the lake’s border. He kicked off his shoes, going to dip his toes in the water’s edge. “Oh. It’s nice.” He felt the rush in his chest. He pulled his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Youngjae’s voice called out, timid, from the shore.

“Let’s swim,” he smiled and he was already unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his legs. “Come on,” he looked at him. “Get undressed.”

“I can’t,” Youngjae stood firm. Unable to move his eyes from Jaebeom’s bare chest.

Jaebeom laughed. “You need to live more.”

“No,” Youngjae sighed before letting the words rush out. “I can’t swim.”

Jaebeom blinked. “Really? Aren’t you from Mokpo?”

Youngjae pursed his lips. “No one ever taught me.”

Jaebeom looked at the way his face was bright. His hips a little lopsided where he stood. The moonlight playing against his cheek. Illuminated yet still so shadowed by the dark of the night.

Jaebeom crossed over to him. Not shy about his nakedness. He stepped into Youngjae’s space, a little surprised when the boy didn’t step back. He reached his hands out, putting them around Youngjae’s hips. He felt for the edges of his sweatshirt. Letting his fingers run across the hem. “I’ll help you,” Jaebeom said, warm and welcoming.

Youngjae looked up into his eyes. He seemed to shiver slightly though it wasn’t cold. But then, he lifted his arms so that Jaebeom could pull the edge of the sweatshirt over his head and cast it aside.

Jaebeom worked on the button on his pants next, pushing them off his hips. He kept removing his clothes one by one until there was nothing but the press of his thigh against Youngjae’s. Their hips almost brushing together.

Jaebeom smoothed down Youngjae’s arms, gripping both of his cool hands. He began to walk backwards, dragging the boy towards the water.

Youngjae seemed hesitant but didn’t fight it. He stepped forward, following Jaebeom’s guidance.

Jaebeom felt the lake water swallowing his ankles and then his calves, the bottom of the lake rocky and rough against his bare feet. He watched the way Youngjae’s face changed when he felt the coolness of the water, though his eyes never strayed from Jaebeom’s face.

When the water was almost chest level, Jaebeom reached his arms forward gripping onto Youngjae’s waist. “Wrap your legs around me.”

When Youngjae complied, Jaebeom could feel the way his ankles locked against his back and their skin met. All too much contact for there to be nothing in it but neither of them seeming to care. Youngjae’s arms wrapped around Jaebeom’s neck and the nape of his hair dipped into the water enough to wet it.

“How’s that?” Jaebeom checked, his arms tightening around Youngjae’s waist. Securing him.

He nodded. “It’s good.”

A shadow seemed to play on his arm. Jaebeom adjusted his eyes in the dark, seeing black text against pale skin. “You have a tattoo?”

Youngjae looked down to his arm, as if he too was surprised before nodding. “Oh yeah. I got it years ago.”

Jaebeom removed a hand from Youngjae’s waist, grabbing his shoulder and trying to twist it closer. “What does it say?”

“Ars Longa Vita Brevis.” He said. “Latin for ‘art is long, life is short.’”

“What’s it mean?”

“Originally or now?”

“Both.”

Youngjae sighed. His eyebrows pinching together, like he was a little nervous. “When I got it, I was in a dark place. The only thing that was keeping me going was my art. I had this feeling like the people around me were temporary. Fleeting. They would all up and leave eventually.”

Jaebeom nodded, understanding more than most would.

“My art. That felt like my only company. The only thing I could depend on being there. But I didn’t realize how I was pushing people away. It wasn’t until I got help and recovered that I realized that there had been people there for me all along.”

Jaebeom spoke, “And now?” Turning them in a slow circle. The ripples of water twirling around them and cascading outwards.

Youngjae shook his head. “Now, the people in my life don’t seem temporary anymore. They are in me and all the art I do. And in my art, they live on no matter what. And that’s a different kind of forever.”

Jaebeom felt the rush of his heart. And it wasn’t artificially prompted by some cocktail of chemicals but instead just from the way Youngjae was talking about forever in this way that made it sound not as foreboding as Jaebeom always thought it was. “What about me?”

Youngjae’s teeth peaked between his lips, the gleam of a smile in the moonlight. “You?”

“You’ve drawn me now,” Jaebeom’s mouth went up at the corner. “So, am I forever?”

From this close, Jaebeom could see the way the question made Youngjae’s eyes brighten. Feeling the way his chest expanded against his own as he took in a breath. But when Youngjae spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I want you to be.”

Jaebeom felt the smile tug at his lips. He tried to lick them to suppress it. He saw the way Youngjae’s eyes darted down to watch the movement.

Jaebeom leaned in, so close that he could feel the flutter of Youngjae’s lashes when he closed his eyes. And he let them hover there for a moment. The exchange of shaky breaths filling the space between them, both nervous but both wanting it. Until Jaebeom leaned all the way in, pressing his lips against Youngjae’s. Feeling all the softness. All the warmth that the boy exuded even when he wasn’t trying. The weight of his arms around his neck and his legs wrapped around his middle. The way it felt too close and not close enough all at once.

He kept kissing Youngjae, tilting his head and nibbling at his lip to ask for entrance. He felt the way Youngjae’s mouth opened. Slow and soft and like nothing Jaebeom had ever felt. He licked into him, careful. Like he was a beautiful, gentle thing that should be shown the upmost care.

Jaebum let his feet carry them back over the stony floor, back towards the gray sand beach. When he got close enough that the ripples were only lapping against the edge, he laid Youngjae down on the damp sand. He didn’t stop kissing him but braced his arms on either side of his head. Letting his kisses slope down Youngjae’s jaw and to his neck.

And even though everything about it felt right, Jaebeom still couldn’t help but feel it. Feel the ache of that hole within him. The way it seemed to whine desperately. And Jaebeom knew that it wanted more than just Youngjae’s body. It wanted everything. 

But, in contrast, his head was reeling with a gnawing feeling that told him that they barely knew each other. That Youngjae could just be as fleeting as the moonlight reflecting off the lake. That they could wake up in another city any day now with Youngjae cashing the last of the company’s checks. Caring only about funding his art and collecting his stories. Laughing when he retold how he’d had a brief fling with a has-been idol. And Jaebeom knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with that. He knew that hole inside of him needed more. But the chaos between the two opposing sides piled up inside of him, aching and begging to be spilled over. And Jaebeom only knew one way to keep it at bay.

“Hey. I have something that could make this better,” Jaebeom whispered against his damp skin, smelling how the lake water and damp sand mixed with his sweetness. “Jackson got me something.”

He felt Youngjae stiffen underneath him. “Pills?”

Jaebeom smiled before kissing his neck again. “Just a taste. Nothing that could hurt us.”

“Jaebeom,” Youngjae sighed into the night air. He put his hands against Jaebeom’s chest, pushing him up. His eyes weren’t bright anymore but cold like their skin from the lake water. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jaebeom felt a rush of panic travel down his spine. Feeling judgmental eyes on him. He tried to play it off. “Come on,” Jaebeom jeered, smoothing his hand down Youngjae’s chest. “Just a little something to take the edge off.” Before his hand could reach the boy’s hips, it was roughly brushed away.

Youngjae let go of a breath, ragged and exasperated. He peddled back onto his forearms, sitting up. He looked up into Jaebeom’s face. “Is this not good enough for you?”

“What?”

“Me!” Youngjae yelled, his eyes filling with hurt and only magnified under the light of the moon. “As I am. Am I not good enough without the drugs to hide behind?”

Jaebeom’s mind seemed to flatline. His mouth hung open. “Youngjae,” his shoulders dropped. He hadn’t been anticipating it.

“No,” he pushed his chest further away. “Fuck off, Jaebeom.”

“Please, no,” Jaebeom grabbed his wrist, sitting before him. “I’m trying to make it better.”

Youngjae tried to pull away, but it was futile in Jaebeom’s strong grasp. “What are you even talking about?” he gritted through his teeth.

Jaebeom’s mind jumbled. Feeling desperate and broken and trying to put the pieces back any way he could. “I can see how much you hurt when no one is looking. That’s why you did it, right?” Jaebeom pulled at his wrist. He lifted it up to the moonlight, watching how the silvery scars seemed translucent. The hues of blue showing through. “Cause everything hurt? Cause you couldn’t stand feeling it anymore?”

Youngjae’s breath hitched in his throat but he didn’t try to pull away.

“But it still hurts sometimes, right?” Jaebeom reasoned. “I know it does.” He licked his lips, “I want to take away our pain.” Jaebeom brought the wrist to his mouth. Carefully, he put his lips to the scars. He felt the way the skin rose and fell against his lips as he kissed them. He looked up to Youngjae’s face and saw him watching, fixated. Somewhere between emotions. Jaebeom spoke into the skin, as if he was talking specifically to those dark parts of Youngjae that he kept hidden like his scars. “Let me take it away.” He reached for his bag. But as soon as he did, Youngjae was pulling away.

“Like I said,” the boy gathered himself back onto his feet. His eyes angry and his voice full of fury. “Fuck off.”

And Jaebeom watched as he took his pile of clothes with him, walking himself back up towards the hotel and disappearing in the line of trees.

\---

When Jaebeom woke up the next morning, Youngjae wasn’t there. His bed was made and his things were gone and Jaebeom felt a panic erupt inside of him. He rushed to get up. Getting dressed and going downstairs. He ran into Mark on the way down.

“Hyung,” he grabbed his arm. “Where’s Youngjae?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “He’s downstairs. He’s having breakfast.”

Jaebeom let out a breath. 

Mark crossed his arms, “We are leaving in a few minutes. Why aren’t you ready?”

Jaebeom sighed. “Sorry. I’ll go get my things.”

And Mark’s eyes were full of questions but Jaebeom chose to ignore them as he turned back to get his bags packed.

The van ride to London was tense and awkward. Youngjae finding a seat in the back before Jaebeom could protest. And he tried not to look back at the boy but every time he did, he had his headphones on and was looking out the window. His hair falling in eyes and his expression closed off. So Jaebeom didn’t speak to him. Losing sight of him as soon as they pulled up to the venue. And it wasn’t until soundcheck that someone noticed.

“How was the photoshoot, hyung?” Yugyeom asked, stretching out his legs from where he sat on the stage.

“It was fine,” Jaebeom said, reaching his arms overhead. His mind elsewhere.

“I heard the hotel was something else.”

Jaebeom sighed. Thinking back to the look of hurt in Youngjae’s eyes as they shone in the moonlight. “It sure was.”

“Where’s your babysitter?” Jackson jeered, glaring.

Jaebeom shrugged his shoulders, shaking out his arms. “You tell me,” he said like he didn’t care though he had been wondering all day.

Yugyeom coughed loud enough to get his attention. Beckoning his eyes up towards the seats.

Jaebeom’s eyes followed and he saw a dot of a person sitting in one of the stadium seats. Even from a distance, Jaebeom could see how his knees were drawn up, propped on the seat in front of him. And in his lap, a sketchbook sat. Barely a tuff of hair peeking out over it.

And the sight itself was making that hole ache around the edges.

“Are we good here?” Jaebeom asked Yugyeom.

He replied with a nod and a thumbs up.

Jaebeom hopped off the stage, trotting through the general admission area to concrete steps. He started climbing up them, one by one. But it was more than he anticipated and by the time he got to the top, he was huffing.

“God, couldn’t you have sat closer?” Jaebeom put his hands to his knees, catching his breath.

Youngjae didn’t look over. Just continued looking at his sketch pad and furrowing his brows. “The perspective is better up here.”

Jaebeom took the seat next to him, leaning over to look. Youngjae’s sketch was another scratching of gray against the white. The stage in front of them, surrounded by seats. But not at all glamorous. Not the way it was at night. But this in between. Staff still building up the gear. Lighting being hung. Monitors being set out. Everything in flux.

“You’re talented, you know that?” Jaebeom looked to his profile.

Youngjae nodded. “I know. You don’t have to tell me.”

Jaebeom was quiet for a moment. “Are you mad at me?”

Youngjae didn’t look over. His brows still creased. “I’m just-“

“Don’t say it,” Jaebeom stopped him. “Don’t give me that disappointed card. I’d rather have you mad.”

Youngjae looked over to him finally.

Jaebeom felt the weight of his attention pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. “I flushed them,” he rushed to say. “In case you were wondering.”

“I know,” Youngjae said, looking back to sketchpad. “I heard you.”

Jaebeom paused. “So, you couldn’t sleep either?”

Youngjae was silent for a long moment. “People told me to be careful of you,” he looked out over the stadium.

“Who?”

“People,” Youngjae didn’t budge.

“What’d they say?”

“That you fuck with your life and the people in it just to prove you can,” Youngjae huffed. “Just to simulate that you have some kind of control over any of this.” Beckoning around them.

“You sound like my therapist,” Jaebeom laughed. 

Youngjae didn’t say anything. Didn’t laugh.

He sighed. “Youngjae. I’m sor-”

Youngjae held up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear it yet,” he shook his head. “You haven’t figured out why you did it. And I don’t want to hear it until you can tell me why.”

Jaebeom pulled back. Looking at him. Even with his eyes averted, there was no mistaking the seriousness of his profile. Clear cut and not willing to listen. And Jaebeom knew he was right. “Okay,” he said, getting up. “I’ll come to you then.”

\---

The concert went as expected. Jaebeom got back to the hotel, snaking himself through the quiet night lobby when his eyes caught onto crossed legs and red hair. “Hang on a minute,” he told his staff. “Wait here.” He went over, kicking the boy’s booted foot. “How did you get back here faster than me?”

Bambam looked up from his phone. “You’re not as quick as you think, hyung.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m trying to pick the layout for your holiday booklet,” he said, pulling up on his phone. “I wanted to know your thoughts.”

Jaebeom scoffed. “Couldn’t you just have emailed me or something?”

Bambam glared. “As if you’d let me have your email.”

Jaebeom’s mouth went to a flat line. He grabbed the phone from Bambam’s hands, flicking through the options. “I like the red one. With the snow.”

Bambam smiled. “That was my favorite, too,” he nodded. “It’s settled.”

“Is that all?” Jaebeom sighed. “I’m tired.”

“I did want to ask you,” the boy said, contorting his face. “There’s been some rumors going around between the fans.”

“Thrilling,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes.

“They are just a little curious about your new additions to your staff. The sober companion and the other one. With the glasses. And the great ass. They’ve noticed that too. He’s got a hashtag. #JBMysteryAssMan”

Jaebeom scowled at him. “Your point?”

“Someone of your team told a fan that they are more than just your staff and it’s spreading like wildfire.”

“Cool,” Jaebeom waved. “Good to see you, Bam.”

Bambam’s face drew up in shock. “Oh, come on. I’m not a reporter. I’m not gonna tell anyone. I just wanna know!”

“Mystery ass is my therapist,” Jabeom sighed. “He’s married. So sorry to disappoint.”

“And your sober companion?” Bambam asked. “Don’t think people haven’t noticed that he hasn’t left your side. They’ve stopped trying to crop him out of your airport pictures.”

Jaebeom was quiet.

“Oh,” Bam raised his eyebrows. “So, there’s something going on there, then?”

Jaebeom pursed his lips. “I’ll see you in New York, Bammie. Have a good flight.” And he took off back towards the huddle of staff near the elevators.

\---

When Jaebeom awoke, Youngjae was already up. Sitting in bed. His headphones in. Scratching away at his sketchbook. Not so much as a glance toward Jaebeom.

And he just sighed, thinking distantly that he deserved it, but it didn’t make it any easier. Jaebeom got up, got dressed, got going for Dr. Park’s room.

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Park said as soon as they both sat down.

And Jaebeom looked up. “Why?”

The doctor shrugged. “You seem a bit deflated.”

Jaebeom swallowed. “I want to talk to you about something,” he started. His hands folding together nervously. “Something that isn’t easy for me to talk about.”

Dr. Park looked at him. His eyes a little soft with sympathy. “Okay,” he said, putting the notepad down on the desk behind him. “I’m listening.”

“It’s a long story,” Jaebeom ran a hand through his hair. “But it’s important I say it.” He took a deep breath. “A long time ago,” he started, feeling the shaking of his heart inside his chest. “When I was seventeen and still a trainee, the company started preparing me for debut. And a few months before it happened, they called me in for a meeting. A few executives around a table. But there was someone else there. And he was older than me. Late twenties. And he was handsome. And I was flustered. And I knew he could tell. They told me that he’d be my manager. They told me to trust him implicitly. Follow everything he told me. And I believed them.”

“And leading up to debut, I was running so ragged. Practicing all day and all night. And I couldn’t sleep well. Too much going on. Too much to worry about. So, my manager would come in my room at night. And he’d give me something to help me. Sleeping pills that he’d gotten a prescription for. And one night, he came in. He brushed the hair away from my face. He told me I looked handsome when I practiced. And I must have blushed. Cause I was seventeen and handsome older men don’t say things like that to you. But he just smirked, and he leaned down and he kissed me.”

Jaebeom saw the way that Dr. Park flinched. A twitch in his shoulders. Hidden under his layers of stoicism.

Jaebeom sighed. Continuing. His eyes unable to meet the doctor’s. “And it just kind of happened like that. He’d compliment me when no one could hear him. Tell me I sound good. That I look good. That I was going to be so famous. That everyone would know who I am soon. He’d tell me that he wanted to stay by my side. See me through all my success. He took care of me. More than anyone else had ever. And so, I just believed him.”

“But once I debuted. He’d corner me sometimes. Say that we need to talk business. He’d use these words on me. Scheduling cost. Booking fees. Maintenance deposit. Said that all the stars had to pay them. And I’d heard that idols don’t make nearly as much as people think so I would just give him the money he asked for. After a while, he convinced me that it would be easier if he had access to my bank account. So, he could do it all himself. He kissed me and said not to worry. That he’d take care of it so that I could focus on being the best performer I could.”

“Did he ever try anything else? Besides kissing you?” Dr. Park asked.

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “He was smart. And he wasn’t in it for me. He was in it for my money.” He furrowed his brows, not proud of his next words. “Sometimes, in a weird way, I wish he would have done something to me. When I’d been underaged. So that the company would have had to take him to court.”

“How did they find out?”

“I still don’t really know. Never really asked,” Jaebeom shrugged. “Three years after debuting, I got called into the same meeting room with the same executives. And they said that manager was no longer a part of the company. And I cried. Cause I didn’t know what else to do. He was my stability. He had always been there.”

“And then they brought Mark into the room and told me he was my new manager. And I was so mad. I hated him for the first few weeks. But at some point in time, I went up to him and I asked him when my booking fee was due. And you should have seen the way he looked at me. He had no idea what I was talking about. And that’s how I found out that man had been lying to me for years.”

“You must have been hurt,” Dr. Park said. Something soft in his voice.

Jaebeom raked a hand through his hair. “I felt so young, so naïve. For him to be able to read me so easily and manipulate me to get what he wanted. He kept me in the dark the whole time. He betrayed me.”

Dr. Park drew in a breath. “Did you love him?”

Jaebeom started to bite the edge of his nail. “I don’t think so,” he shook his head. “How could I have loved him if I didn’t truly know him? I thought I did. I thought I knew him so well. But I was wrong. And I was willing to look past the warning signs because I was young and stupid and willing to trust anyone who gave two shits about me cause that’s a hell of a lot more than my mom ever did.”

Dr. Park nodded. “It’s understandable.”

Jaebeom took a breath. Stretching out. Trying to settle the rush of his chest. “And ever since then, I promised myself I would never mistake a professional relationship for a real one ever again.”

“Jaebeom,” Dr. Park sighed. He drew off his glasses, placing them down on the desk.

Jaebeom looked at him. His unobscured eyes. Closer than they’d ever been.

“Nothing that happened was your fault. That guy was a monster. There was no way you could have known.”

Jaebeom hissed through teeth. His brows creased together. Not sure if he was believing but listening nonetheless.

“But now,” Dr. Park thought. “It’s more than just that line of professional and personal. It’s like you don’t trust that people could have real feelings for you. Outside of your career. Outside of JB.”

Jaebeom thought for a moment. Mouth small. Breaths shaky. “You’re right.”

“Your life is… different. I’ll admit. Millions of people think they know you just because they see you sing on a stage and that complicates things, sure. But there are still people out there that don’t care about all that stuff. They just want to know the real you. They want to love the real you.” Dr. Park’s voice sounded so firm. So sure.

Jaebeom’s mouth was dry. His knee starting to bounce. “I think I’m realizing that. Later than I should have.”

“I’m not blind, Jaebeom,” Dr. Park shook his head. “I know who this is about.”

Jaebeom felt his chest flutter.

“And I think you should pursue him,” the doctor nodded. “I think he’s doing a lot of good for you.”

“That is if I haven’t already fucked it up,” Jaebeom sighed.

“You haven’t,” Dr. Park shook his head. He looked at his watch. “We should wrap up. We’re meeting downstairs soon.”

Jaebeom nodded, getting up from his seat and moving toward the door. He opened it up.

“Jaebeom,” Dr. Park got up, stopping him in the doorway and letting his hand rest against the edge of the door. His face the closest it had been since their time in the facility. And without his glasses, Jaebeom was feeling that heat fight through everything else. “Let him cool down. Talk to him in New York.”

Jaebeom swallowed. Looking into the doctor’s eyes. And trusting him. “Okay,” he nodded, before he was back down the hallway.


	6. New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> ****TRIGGER WARNING****  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **This chapter contains discussions of suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts.  
> **  
>  **  
> **  
> Please avoid if these themes are triggering for you.  
> 

By the time they landed in New York, the sun had outrun them and it was well into the evening. The show wasn’t until the next day and everyone seemed thankful for a chance to rest and reset their clocks on a new continent.

But when Jaebeom and Youngjae checked into their room, they immediately saw the problem. All the typical niceties were present. But the glaring difference was the singular, queen sized bed that centered the room. The two of them had been silent for a moment, staring at it as if it didn’t compute, before Jaebeom was scrambling for the hotel phone and dialing Mark’s room.

“Jaebeom,” Youngjae sighed. “It’s fine.”

“Hyung,” Jaebeom said, voice rushed as soon as he picked up. “Hey. I don’t know what happened. But there must have been a mistake. We only got a single room.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark replied. “They didn’t have enough double rooms left so I got you guys a single. I mean I kinda thought you’d be trying to thank me but-“

“Hyung,” Jaebeom sighed. “That’s not-“

He looked over to Youngjae who shook his head. “It’s fine,” he mouthed. “Really.”

Mark scoffed. “Look. You’re being dramatic. Do you really want me to have them bring you a cot or something?”

Jaebeom took a deep breath in. He let it out. “It’s fine, hyung,” he said, feigning calmness. “Thank you.”

For some reason, the singular bed made all their interactions feel forced. And he thought to himself that this wouldn’t have been so weird if he hadn’t just nearly hooked up with Youngjae before it had crumbled into a fight. So, he was left tip toeing around him as he committed to his usual routine. He went to take a shower. In his uneasiness, he forgot to bring a clean shirt to change into, forgoing it in favor of his bare chest. He came out to see Youngjae lying in bed, his knees drawn up under the covers, watching television. And something about the way the covers on the other side were folded back like they were waiting for him to slip in had his whole body rushing between hot and cold. A sinking feeling deep in his stomach. He readied his clothes for the next day, thankful that they were free all morning until soundcheck.

By the time he slipped into the bed, Youngjae was turning off the television. “We should sleep,” the boy said. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom agreed. Turning away from him. He felt the shifting pressure of Youngjae leaning over to turn out the light. As if every small detail was leaving Jaebeom feeling overly conscious.

So he was left watching the red numbers of the alarm clock burn themselves into his retinas because they were all he had to look at. He felt paralyzed, staying close to his own side of the bed, but it was hard to piece apart what exactly had him feeling this way. Had this been just two days ago, he wouldn’t have been so hesitant. Hell, maybe he would have been okay if Youngjae had rolled over in his sleep and pressed their bodies together. Maybe he would have pretended not to notice until morning came and they clumsily disentangled themselves with hot blushes burning their cheeks. Because that would have been innocent enough. No spoken intention in it. But after the lake. After both of them seemingly admitting that they wanted there to be more there, that left them in a middle ground that Jaebeom didn’t know how to navigate. That he had never before needed to navigate. Knowing now that Youngjae was conditionally receptive. And not knowing if he could deliver on those conditions.

Jaebeom lay awake. And through the darkness, at his side, he could hear Youngjae breathing. And after having spent enough nights together, he could tell by the pattern of it that he wasn’t sleeping either.

“Youngjae,” Jaebeom whispered into the darkness.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Back in London. At the lake. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Youngjae rustled in the sheets as he turned toward him. “Why did you do it then?” he asked. And there was something in his tone. Like he already knew. Like he just wanted to hear Jaebeom articulate it.

Jaebeom turned onto his back, feeling the cool sheets against his bare skin, but he couldn’t meet his eyes. Choosing instead to stare up at the ceiling. The words were daunting enough on their own. He wasn’t used to doing this. To being forthcoming and transparent about his feelings. Because there was too much vulnerability in speaking like this. Too much room for people to slip in and hurt him. But he thought back to his last session with Dr. Park. To opening himself up despite how difficult it was. And he knew that even if it was hard, he had to do it. If not for himself, for Youngjae who had proven worthy of his trust with the way he readily accepted him even after seeing below the surface of his fame. The way he soothed parts of Jaebeom that he didn’t let anyone else see. 

“The hooking up part has always been easy for me,” Jaebeom sighed. “People were always coming and going in that respect. There was never anything in it. I never really knew them and they never really knew me and that was fine as long as we parted before we sobered up.”

“But last night wasn’t just hooking up. And I had those drugs in my bag and it just felt like maybe if we both did it. If we both swallowed a few pills and blamed it on the fade. Maybe we could put off facing... whatever’s been going on.”

Youngjae was quiet for a moment. “What has been going on?”

Jaebeom’s heart stirred in his chest. “I don’t know,” he said, almost under his breath. “All I know is that I didn’t just want to have you and then part in the morning. And it just made me realize that…I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like I barely know you.”

Youngjae paused. “What do you want to know?”

Jaebeom twisted his mouth. He looked over. Finally meeting the boy’s eyes. Seeing how they reflected the city lights outside their hotel window. “You know what I want to know.”

Youngjae exhaled, nostrils flared. His eyes averted down as his fingers started to toy with the blanket. Quiet and pensive for a moment. “I was adopted,” he finally said, unable to look towards him. “That’s kinda where my story started.”

“Tell it to me,” Jaebeom whispered out. He half expected Youngjae to wave him off. To tell him, another time, another day. To make an excuse that he was tired or that he didn’t have the words yet. But when Youngjae looked back up at his face with a certain amount of nervousness and a gulp in his throat, Jaebeom knew he was getting that story tonight.

“The depression was always there,” he started. “My mom was sixteen and living in her small hometown. She was from a conservative family. Her father was a pastor and everything. So when she got pregnant, her family made her give me up. I was something shameful to them. A reminder of her sin. Outside of that, I don’t know much about her. Don’t really care to know, to be honest,” he shook his head.

“I was a foster kid for a few years. Changing houses every few months. Some good, some not so good. I was lucky. Nothing abusive. But most of the time, I felt like a charity case. A tax write off. An accessory to some couple’s do-gooder personality. 

“When I finally got adopted, my parents gave me the permanent home I had waited so long for. The one I never really thought I would get. And they really loved me. They still do. And that was weird to just feel like these people started loving me with no reason to. They had so little to their name, but they gave me theirs anyway and everything else they could. Even when I was young, that was a little hard to accept. Why did they work so hard to send me to the only art high school in the South Jeolla Province? Why did they take the train with me into Seoul, weekend after weekend, to interview with all the biggest BFA programs?”

Jaebeom wanted to interrupt him. To protest and name all things that made him endearing. But he tightened his mouth, letting the boy continue.

“In part due to that unconditional support, I got into art school. I got a scholarship. Thank god. And it was great for the first year or so. I didn’t put in too much effort. I was getting top marks. I was always the top pick from all the professors. But the other students saw my success and started pushing themselves, getting better, eclipsing me. It snuck up on me. It felt like one day, my work stopped being good enough. But it was because I hadn’t been pushing myself to grow. I had just hit my threshold.

“And I didn’t know how to handle that. I’d never been second best. Nor third, or fourth. It scared me. And so, I knew I needed to start putting in more effort. But I didn’t know what that even looked like. I went to a doctor on campus and photoshopped some paperwork to make it look like I’d been diagnosed and needed stimulants, amphetamines, the usual. So, they gave me a prescription and I started taking it to help me stay up and keep working. Keep tinkering with my pieces. Trying to find more research. More references. More techniques. Until I was back at the top. Until I was getting that positive feedback that I craved.

“But it wasn’t sustainable. I felt like my eyes were glued to the rearview, just waiting for someone to overtake me again. I even lashed out and accused a few classmates of plagiarizing my work even though I know now it was just the paranoia talking. I was heading toward a bad place. I would just lock myself in my room. I wouldn’t eat. I would take medicine to keep me up. I wouldn’t see anyone outside of my classes. I wouldn’t call my parents because I was scared they’d worry or, god forbid, pull me out of school. I wouldn’t accept help even from those closest to me.”

Jaebeom felt the pain in his chest deepen. He could see the memories flooding back into Youngjae’s face. The fear. The anxiety. The paranoia. Painted like he was a portrait of his own past.

Youngjae paused. Looking down to the sheets. “It was finals week,” he said, throat wet. “I had a few projects that I was really stressed about. I went to my doctor and said I needed to refill my prescription. She denied me. Said she suspected I was abusing it and she had a responsibility to stop it. She was just following university procedure. It wasn’t her fault.”

Jaebeom felt the sudden uneasiness. And he too knew what was coming.

“I got home that night. And I couldn’t think straight. I was withdrawing and exhausted and feeling so hopeless. There was no way I would be able to finish my projects without the drugs. And what kind of artist would I be if I had failed out of my one shot at art school? Wasted away that scholarship? All the long nights. All of my hard work, my parents hard work. All for nothing. 

“I had been hurting so much already. Waking up and facing another day didn’t just feel challenging. It felt impossible. As if I’d die in my sleep from the way I was feeling. Like I’d stop breathing or my heart would give up on beating and there wasn’t anything I could do but accept it. In my mind, there was no way I would be getting out alive.” Youngjae stuttered out a breath. “So, I made the decision that I would be the one to end it.”

Jaebeom reached out, grabbing his cool hand. Not knowing if it was more for Youngjae or himself.

Youngjae looked up at him. He looked into his face. A flash of wordless gratitude across his features. He turned his wrist over letting their eyes glint downwards across the scars in unison. “They’re cold, right? My hands?” he huffed. He swallowed. “I don’t know why,” he shook his head. “But ever since, they’re always so cold.”

Jaebeom lets his fingers drag over the skin of his palm. “I don’t mind,” he whispered.

Youngjae smiled to himself before continuing. “My roommate found me,” the boy said. “Thank god he did.” He took in a breath. “I took a leave from school. Went into treatment for three months. Reenrolled the next semester. Graduated a bit late, but it is what it is. I’m still here, right? That’s what matters.”

Jaebeom felt overwhelmed. Aching from the way Youngjae talked about something so dark with still so much hope in his voice. “You’ve endured so much,” he whispered. His hand sliding up to his wrist, his thumb running over the scars. Feeling their rises and falls against the ridges of his fingerprint.

“I still am,” Youngjae half-smiled. “But it’s better now. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

And then, it wasn’t just his hand but instead the hole inside of Jaebeom that was trying to reach out. Trying to feel all those rises and falls of Youngjae’s spirit. The light and the dark, not at odds with each other, but coexisting somehow. All veiled in the unfathomable strength the boy had. And part of Jaebeom felt weak and selfish in his presence. To ever have tried to blame his ways on his past when someone like Youngjae was walking around blooming despite his.

“Sorry it took so long to tell you,” Youngjae said. “I just don’t like people knowing. I don’t like them looking at me like I’m something soft that isn’t to be broken. People have looked at me like that my whole life.”

“Do I look at you like that?” Jaebeom looked at him.

“No,” he shook his head. “You look at me like I’m the strong one. And that’s different for me.”

Jaebeom felt his smile pulling tight against his face. “You are the strong one.”

Youngjae laughed. “Thanks,” he said. He bit his lip. “We should get some sleep. You have a show tomorrow.”

Jaebeom sighed. Not wanting to sleep. Just wanting to let the moment linger on a little more. But he could see how much the conversation had drained Youngjae. “Okay,” he nodded, conceding. “Let’s get some sleep.”

And though they didn’t move any closer to each other, Jaebeom left his hand there, delicately gripping around Youngjae’s, until they were both asleep.

\---

When Jaebeom woke up, the sheets were tangled around his waist and his bare chest was exposed. Warm in the summer light streaming through the hotel window.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, looking around the room.

Youngjae was sitting in a chair at the lower corner of the bed. His hair was damp from a shower and he wore a hotel robe. His sketchbook was in his lap and his face was close to it. His hands and wrists were blackened by a stick of charcoal as he worked. 

He looked back up and saw Jaebeom stirring awake. “Could you give me a few more minutes? I’m trying to get your shoulders right.”

Jaebeom smiled. Feeling a warmth that was more than just the sun through the windows. “I don’t have anywhere to be,” he said.

Youngjae smiled back, his shoulders tightening again and his head lowering back towards the pad. 

Jaebeom watched the way he worked. His eyebrows drawn together. His expression tight. Concentrated. Intense. Like he was funneling all the emotion out towards his hands. The sound of the charcoal against the paper. Gritty and rough. The mixture of long and short strokes. Sometimes wide, sometimes precise. The way Youngjae used his blackened fingers to blend the strokes together. Pushing the robe up higher on his arms with the back of his hands to avoid staining it.

And Jaebeom didn’t know how long time stretched on, just watching him as he worked. That stillness that only bright mornings could hold. And somewhere in Jaebeom’s mind, he couldn’t help but think that he’d never get tired of watching him. Of seeing his eyes lit up with passion and determination. And how he would flick his gaze up towards Jaebeom. And Jaebeom would think back to the Louvre and how Youngjae had looked at the painting like its chaos was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. And Jaebeom dared to think that his look in the moment was the same. And the thought had his frayed edges aching.

The boy clapped his blackened hands together. “Done,” he called. A satisfied sigh.

“Can I look?” Jaebeom asked, raising a brow.

“Of course,” the boy smiled. The light of it rivaling the sun through the windows.

Jaebeom got up, rounding the edge of the bed. He stood over Youngjae’s shoulder, peering into his lap. The sketch was of Jaebeom, outstretched across the hotel bed. His broad chest detailed and his hair mused. One arm looping above his head and the other snaked across his chest. One leg jutting out from the covers, shorts ridden up as if he was naked underneath. But his eyes landed back on his face. It was peaceful. Gentle. A slight parting of his lips. His features tilted upward, catching the light.

And Jaebeom had seen himself infinite times. In infinite spaces. Billboards and transit cards and t-shirts and tv screens. But any attempt to capture him paled in comparison to this. No makeup. No designer anything. Absent of any sign of fame. Being captured in this rare moment of peace that he never actually got to experience. That he was always chasing by some other means. When in reality, it was always there. 

Jaebeom leaned forward, grasping the edge of the sketchbook. He lifted it out of Youngjae’s hands and placed it down on the bedside table. When he looked back to Youngjae, the boy’s eyes were wide and questioning. 

Jaebeom grabbed his arms, pulling him out of the chair until he was standing. He looked into his eyes, hands moving up to cup his face. His features still wide and open but the questions in his eyes were fading to nothing as his hand came to rest against Jaebeom’s. His thumb sweeping across it in soothing strokes, leaving a shadow of grey against his skin. As if he wanted to reassure any hesitations.

But truthfully, there were no hesitations left. Jaebeom was seeing him in that same stunning clarity as the light cutting through the glass. As clearly as the image of Jaebeom on his sketchpad. Nothing coming between them.

Jaebeom stepped as close as he could, hearing the flutter of their inhalations. No longer flooded with nerves but, instead, with eagerness. Yet that stillness of the morning made Jaebeom want to stretch the moment out forever. He sloped down, a featherlight press of lips against Youngjae’s. All that sweetness still there from the lake. All that warmth washing over him and collecting where the sun hit between his shoulder blades. He leaned in, adding more pressure, trying to be closer. Feeling like he’d never be close enough.

Youngjae met his pressure, hands resting against his bare chest. He tugged Jaebeom’s lips open with his teeth and sliding his tongue alongside. Craning his head to lick into his mouth. All the same passion and meticulousness Jaebeom saw in him when he made art. And Jaebeom couldn’t help but think how stupid Yugyeom had been to think that Youngjae had never been kissed.

Youngjae’s fingers splayed against his chest, pushing forward until they were both crashing down onto the bed. Jaebeom’s hands moved up to his waist. Both of them letting the kisses turn ruthless. Youngjae’s hands coming up to grip at Jaebeom’s face.

And Jaebeom could feel the grit of the charcoal on his hands but he couldn’t care less. He let his fingers tug at the hotel robe, feeling it loosen away from the boy’s chest. Pulling away to watch as his bare chest broke free, exposing the soft skin underneath.

Youngjae rolled his shoulders, maneuvering it off. Sliding out his arms before letting his hands snake down Jaebeom’s body. Marring him in dark gray streaks.

Jaebeom hooked his hands under Youngjae’s arms, dragging him up on the bed. Pulling back for a moment to look at him. The way he looked up at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. Exposing those scars on his wrist. The curve of his strong arms tapering to his tight middle. His chest rising and falling.

“What?” he said, huffing through a smile. His eyes alive and warm. Glinting crescents in the light.

Jaebeom couldn’t answer. He couldn’t find the words. Because, of course, he’d seen and held his body in the moonlight, but it was still so shadowed by the darkness and the hesitations that they both had. So seeing him like this, felt so different. Felt like the way it was supposed to be. He dove back in kissing him again, hands smoothing down his sides and feeling him shiver. Youngjae’s cools hands coming to hang around his neck.

Jaebeom’s hands slid down to his thighs, gripping and digging in his nails. Feeling the way they jolted before spreading wider for him, letting him crawl into the space between. He braced his hands on either side of Youngjae’s shoulders, letting his hips roll down into his. And it was Youngjae’s bare skin against his shorts but it was still the first hit of contact he had had in weeks and it felt electric. He grinded into him, feeling how they hardened against each other. Leaning down to kiss him roughly. All teeth and breath.

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae whined into his mouth. “Take those off.”

And Jaebeom smiled against his lips, sitting up and hooking his fingers into the waistband so he could ease them off his hips. He looked up to Youngjae’s and saw how his eyes were trained on the trail of hair leading downward. And he kept pushing them off and down his legs until he was kicking them off the bed.

And Youngjae’s eyes raked over him. His bottom lip slid between his teeth.

Jaebeom smirked. Letting his hand trail up Youngjae’s thigh to elicit a hiss from between those teeth. When he reached the space between, he wrapped his fingers around him, not even moving to start but just gripping him firmly.

Youngjae moved his hips up, trying to work against Jaebeom’s hand. Making a frustrated noise. “God,” he groaned. “How’d I know you’d be a tease?”

Jaebeom smiled wide. “Fine,” he shrugged before dropping down to his elbows and letting himself flatten out against the bed between Youngjae’s legs. He brought him into his mouth, immediately bobbing himself forward to surround him.

And Youngjae gasped, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at him.

And Jaebeom didn’t stop, working himself forward to swallow him down before his lips pulled back to suck the tip. Tasting the precum alongside the taste of his skin. Relishing the way his thighs trembled against the bed.

Youngjae kept watching, his mouth open as if whining. He reached his hand down against the back of Jaebeom’s neck and pushing down lightly as if to keep him down.

And Jaebeom complied, letting him fill his mouth and feeling the hot pulse against his tongue. But desperate to hear more of that breath hitched in his throat, he snuck his hand between Youngjae’s open legs, prodding a sharp knuckle against his entrance. And Youngjae must have not expected it because he gasped again, throwing his head back and moaning loud this time.

Jaebeom smiled around him, pulling off to clumsily climb forward and kiss him with his slick mouth. Swallowing down those noises like they were secrets just for him. He kissed the corner of his open lips, his jaw, his neck, trailing down to his collarbone that lay taut under the skin with the way he was pushing himself up on his elbows. Jaebeom kissed along the straight line, letting his tongue reach out lapping at the concaves. He took two fingers, sliding them along Youngjae’s jaw, soft and smooth. Letting them catch on his lips before sliding them into his mouth. 

Youngjae eagerly worked his tongue against them, drenching them, without guidance. 

Jaebeom bit into the skin of his collarbone, feeling the vibration of his moan around his fingers. He slid them out, reaching back between his legs and letting one circle him. 

Youngjae’s hips kicked, arching toward his finger. So Jaebeom pressed and pressed until he was slid in to his knuckle. He pulled himself up, starting to curl into his walls and looking into his face. Watching him chase shaky breaths with dark eyes.

He worked another finger into him, using his other hand to sweep the hair off his forehead. This mix of soothing and pleasuring that he only wanted to give to Youngjae. Because in some ways, that was what he had always been giving Jaebeom.

Youngjae reached his hand out, fingers gripping around Jaebeom’s throat and pulling him forward. Crashing their mouths together again. Youngjae gritting his teeth against Jaebeom’s lips. But then, his hands were moving down to his chest, pushing him away.

“What?” Jaebeom huffed, pulling his fingers out.

Youngjae didn’t say anything. Just leaned himself over the edge of the bed and grappled for his bag, pulling it closer. And he only had to rummage for a few seconds before he was rolling back over with a bottle of lube between his fingers.

Jaebeom quirked a brow. “You brought this with you?” he asked. Genuinely curious.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. “Shut up and take it.”

Jaebeom smiled, taking it from his hand and uncapping it. He settled himself between Youngjae’s legs again, sitting back on his haunches and spreading it over. Feeling how hard and untouched he was because all he’d been able to focus on was Youngjae. He threw the bottle to the side, looking up to see Youngjae’s eyes open and intense.

Jaebeom reached out, grabbing his hips and drawing them towards him. Lining himself up before Youngjae eagerly pushed down onto him, letting him slide in. 

The sensation painted the backs of Jaebeom’s eyes white. Scared he might tumble, he leaned forward, placing his hands against the headboard. He rolled his hips up into him. Feeling the pressure surrounding him with shuttering pulses. He tried to ground himself, guiding them into a smooth rhythm but eager to pick up the pace.

Youngjae groaned, arching his back upwards and drawing his knees up just to maximize the contact between them. He tightened his whole body with each upstroke. His chin tilted up till the light was dancing with the shadows off the curves of his face.

Jaebeom kept moving. Feeling too much. And not just thrumming through his body but also through parts of him that he didn’t know could react to sex. His chest not just aching with seething breaths, but also with something else that felt just as low and exasperated. Just as desperate and eager. His hands gripped tighter onto the headboard. And when he looked down to Youngjae, he saw the way he was looking back. All that brightness. That energy. All reflecting in stunning clarity. So close to him. Closer than anyone had ever gotten. 

He reached a hand down, fisting it around Youngjae and feeling the slick of saliva and precum easing the slide. He pumped him in time with his thrusts. 

Youngjae’s whole expression turned. His brows furrowing and his mouth wide and moaning. His blackened hands fisting into the sheets and tarnishing them with charcoal. The white of his knuckles against the black. The play of dark and light. Taking only a couple strokes before his back was arching and he was screaming out, spilling across his own stomach.

And Jaebeom kept thrusting as he looked down at the chaos. The cum glistening in the morning light. The stained sheets. Nothing about it stylized. Everything messy and imperfect yet refreshingly authentic. And something about it made his whole body ache. He looked back into Youngjae’s face, seeing his eyes trained on him. Not much different than they’d been whenever he’d been his most vulnerable. Open and inquisitive and earnest.

Youngjae lay a hand on the back of his neck. “That’s it,” he soothed. “I got you.” 

And Jaebeom felt that sweetness in Youngjae’s low voice soak through every inch of him, coating his insides. And he found it hard to explain how the simple reassurance made him feel. Safe and understood and taken care of. Like that hole inside of him, the one that felt so overwhelming empty all time, was being momentarily appeased. Like Youngjae was sacrificing a part of himself to satiate it. And in return, Jaebeom let go of everything, groaning from deep within his broad chest and spilling inside of him.

Jaebeom fell over him, melding their sticky bodies together. Panting hard into his neck. He stayed there for a moment, calming down the race of his heart. But he felt too impatient, wanting only to keep looking into Youngjae’s face and keep seeing that reassurance. So he peeled himself away until their eyes were meeting.

Youngjae looked back at him, smile wide, breath shallow. But he could only hold the gaze for a moment before he was bursting out laughing. “Oh my god,” he cackled, his hair falling into his face. “You should see yourself. You’re a mess.”

Jaebeom smiled, reaching out to brush the hair away from his bright eyes. “I don’t care,” he said. Meaning it. Because he knew he was a mess but so was Youngjae and there was something beautiful in that. “Look,” he said, spreading his arms wide. Showing off the black smears that coated him. “You’ve made me into art.”

Youngjae looked back, his smile widening. “I guess I did,” he whispered before crawling over him and kissing him again.

\---

Another day, another show. And it was almost the same as every other show. But when they were waiting off stage between songs, Yugyeom leaned in, touching his arm.

“You okay?” he said, with a touch of concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom rushed to say, adjusting his mic pack in his pocket. “Why?”

“Are you on something?”

“He’s not,” Jackson butted in, his voice annoyed.

Jaebeom looked to Yugyeom, furrowing his brows. As if to ask what was up with their friend.

Yugyeom just shrugged in response before readying himself to go back up.

Jaebeom finished the set, shuttling back to the hotel. When he came in, Youngjae was in bed. The same one as the morning. Watching a movie in the darkness.

He roused himself, sitting up as Jaebeom came in. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Jaebeom said, dropping his things and crawling up the bed. “But to be honest, I was more excited about coming back to this.” He put a hand to the boy’s face, drawing him close and kissing him.

Youngjae laughed between kisses. “Lay down,” he said.

“I don’t want to,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I wanna go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Jaebeom shrugged. “Let’s just go walk.”

“It’s so late,” Youngjae protested.

“Good thing we’re in the city that never sleeps.” He held his face, unable to do anything but smile.

“Okay, okay,” Youngjae finally surrendered. He started to get up. “But you’re wearing a mask and a hat.”

Once they were outside, the air was sauna hot, clouding Jaebeom’s face as he breathed in his own humid breath through the mask. They walked themselves a few blocks, following the streetlights that seemed to get brighter and brighter. And it was only a few minutes of shoulders brushing and Youngjae smiling up at the skyscrapers that were warmly lit against the night sky before the street opened up wide. Surrounding them were the bright lights of Times Square. Electric, fluorescent. Crowded with throngs of tourists. Hard not to keep looking at all the signs as they changed and flickered.

Jaebeom looked to Youngjae. Watching the way the colors played against his features. “It suits you,” he said.

“What?” Youngjae looked over.

“The city,” Jaebeom nodded. “Bright, diverse,” he named off.

“Gritty, crowded,” Youngjae sighed.

“Exciting, strong.”

“Dark, dirty,” the boy grimaced.

“Stop,” Jaebeom smiled beneath his mask. “Let me compliment you.” He reached out, lacing their fingers together. Watching the boy’s face turn shy though his hand gripped back.

“Hyung!” someone shouted from behind them.

And as soon as Jaebeom heard the accent, he knew. “Oh no,” he grimaced. Dropping Youngjae’s hand and turning.

Bambam jogged up. “Hyung,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are,” he shrugged. 

“I was on my way to a cheesecake place nearby,” Bam smiled.

“Oh. That sounds delicious,” Youngjae smiled.

Bambam tilted his shoulders. “I mean, you both are welcome to join me.”

Youngjae looked over to Jaebeom. His face bright and hopeful.

Jaebeom sighed. “If you promise not to touch your phone, we’ll come along,” he nodded.

Bambam smiled, his front teeth poking out with giddy admiration in his eyes. “I don’t think you’ve properly introduced me to your new friend yet,” he tilted his head toward Youngjae.

Jaebeom scoffed. “Bambam. This is Youngjae. Youngjae. Bambam.” He beckoned between them.

“Always a pleasure to meet one of JB’s friends,” Bam nodded.

“Oh,” Youngjae’s eyebrows went up. “Do you know a lot of them?”

Bambam shrugged. “Well, you’re the first.”

“That’s not true,” Jaebeom corrected. “You hang out with Yugyeom when he isn’t touring.”

Bambam shook his head. “That doesn’t count. I was his friend before he was your dancer.” He turned to Youngjae. “I met him when I first moved to Seoul and we were both just JB fan boys in arms.”

“Wow,” Youngjae gawked.

“But enough about me,” Bam clapped his hands together. “Cheesecake time.”

And that’s how they ended up in a café, eating cheesecake and drinking coffee while Bambam told every embarrassing story of Jaebeom that he could possibly know. Every public blunder, some which he didn’t even remember. And Youngjae couldn’t stop laughing. Crashing his shoulder against Jaebeom’s chest.

“He didn’t just fall off the stage,” Bam said, twirling his fork as he talked. “He fell into the orchestra pit. They had to cut to commercial to fish him out.”

“I got back up and all the fans are asking me if I’m okay or if I’m hurt and Bammie’s just dying laughing,” Jaebeom sighed. “And I had to perform right afterwards and try to play of the limp like I was just being cool.” His hands going to up his hot, embarrassed face.

“How can you be coordinated and clumsy at the same time?” Youngjae laughed. He hit Jaebeom’s leg. “Hey, I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Youngjae got up from the booth, walking himself to the back of the café. Jaebeom watched him go. When his eyes flicked back to Bambam, the boy’s face was wide with a smile.

“Don’t say anything,” Jaebeom sighed.

“I don’t have to,” Bam smiled, taking another bite off fork. “Who knows?”

“Virtually no one,” Jaebeom spun his mug around.

“Who is going to know?”

Jaebeom hesitated, feeling his jaw tense. “Why do they need to know? It’s going well. We’re happy. We don’t need to complicate it.”

Bambam nodded. Agreeing. “I’m glad you’re happy, hyung.”

And Jaebeom didn’t try to correct him.

“We’ve been worried. The fans. Since Tokyo.” the boy said, voice growing more serious. “I don’t think people knew you were that bad. You always seemed like you had it together.”

Jaebeom sighed, feeling the memories coming back. The long, messy nights. Drowning himself in anything he could get his hands on. And it had only been about a month but it sometimes felt ages ago. “It was pretty bad,” he said, almost under his breath.

“I think it was a wakeup call for a lot of people. Someone like you who sings on a stage and seems to be afraid of nothing. Even someone like you isn’t indestructible.”

Jaebeom didn’t know what to say. Because it was a line he often didn’t know how to walk. Sometimes, it was easier to assume that fans were this inhuman mass. Because thinking of each and every one of those people as individuals with their own lives, own problems, own opinions, that was sometimes too much to bear.

“But knowing you’re better. And that you have people supporting you. That eases our minds,” Bam nodded. “Even we don’t need to know the details.”

Jaebeom looked at him. Seeing pieces of that little kid at his fan sign. Knowing that he was zany and wild, but he was nothing but genuine in everything he did. Even in this moment of earnest support. 

“I appreciate that,” Jaebeom nodded. “It’s not easy. But I’m trying it out. Seeing how it goes.”

“Let me know, won’t you?” Bambam smiled.

Jaebeom felt unable to keep himself from smiling. “As if I can keep anything from you.”

\---

“How has New York been treating you?” Jaebeom said when he sat down across from Dr. Park the next morning.

“Good. Very good,” Dr. Park nodded. “I haven’t seen you in…what? Forty-eight hours? Did I miss anything?”

Jaebeom almost laughed. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah?” the doctor flicked his pen between his fingers. “Your last session was pretty heavy,” he said, nonchalantly. “Have you talked to him yet?” And the tone of it was laid back enough.

Jaebeom licked his lips. He nodded. “We cleared the air.”

Dr. Park looked up at him. Reading him. “Oh,” his eyes widened. “Well, then.”

“But,” Jaebeom offered with a smirk. “We didn’t get to talk about you last session, Dr. Park.”

The doctor stared back, the corner of his lips moving up. “Fine,” he finally said. “Shoot.”

Jaebeom folded his hands together. “I’m starting to form a theory.”

“A theory?” Dr. Park’s eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“Do tell.”

“A theory that we are more alike than we are different,” Jaebeom said.

Dr. Park narrowed his eyes. “How do you figure?”

“Well obviously, we come from very different backgrounds, right?” Jaebeom shrugged. “I’m the degenerate waste of sperm and egg and you’re the little prince of your family.”

“Okay,” Dr. Park followed along. Not confirming or denying.

“And we have different paths, sure. I’m doing this whole rock star on the mend trope while you’re the perfect, academic husband that your spouse loves you for.”

“Sure.”

“But,” Jaebeom sighed. “We both hide. I hide underneath my self-deprecating sarcasm and you under your professionalism. But it’s still similar nonetheless.”

“What are you hiding?” Dr. Park asked, turning the line of questions back towards him.

Jaebeom shrugged. “Less and less, I guess. Not much more to me now than what you know.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Dr. Park said, low and rumbling.

And Jaebeom felt his tone curling that warmth in his stomach.

Dr. Park licked his lips. “What do you think I’m hiding?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Jaebeom smirked. “But I think it will be worth the wait.”

“Let me know when you find it,” Dr. Park smirked. “But enough about me. I want to hear about your talk with Youngjae.”


	7. Toronto

The flight between New York and Toronto was only an hour, so the plane they boarded was a small one. Three seats across. Jaebeom sat at the window with Youngjae next to him. 

They took off. The island of Manhattan, shrinking into the midday sun, showed clear through the windows. Jaebeom looked over, seeing Youngjae with his headphones in and a blanket pulled up around him. His eyes closed and brows worked together. Like he was trying to fall asleep but wasn’t quite there.

And Jaebeom had ridden on enough plane rides with Youngjae by his side by now but something about the way the light was hitting him and the sleepy look on his face made him think back to yesterday morning and how they’d crashed onto that hotel bed like they knew there was no going back. And Jaebeom was reminded of the softness of his skin and the bite of his teeth on his lips and all those little juxtapositions. And he felt that thrumming of his body taking over any other thought.

Jaebeom snaked his hand toward Youngjae, slipping under the blanket and onto his thigh. Pressing his fingertips deep into the fabric of his joggers and feeling the give of flesh around them.

The boy’s eyes shot open, looking back at him. Full of questions but his mouth going small, unable to voice them.

Jaebeom smirked in reply. He licked his lips, keeping his eyes trained on Youngjae’s face as he worked his fingers up slowly. Working against the crease of his thigh and pelvis.

Youngjae seemed to catch a sound in his mouth, keeping it between his teeth. His hips shifting slightly up, as if to give Jaebeom more access. But his brows furrowing somewhere between quizzical and curious.

Jaebeom leaned himself toward him. Letting his lips brush the shell of his ear. “Shh,” he soothed. “Just close your eyes.”

And Youngjae seemed hesitant for a moment. Blinking back before he let his lashes flutter shut, leaning his head back against the headrest like he had been. As if he was trying to fall asleep.

Jaebeom smiled, his hand moving over a fraction of an inch to settle in Youngjae’s lap. He clutched the bulge between his legs, giving it the proper amount of pressure to awaken. He loosened his hand before clenching again. Massaging the space in firm circles.

Jaebeom’s eyes were trained on Youngjae’s face. His closed eyes, his subtle brows knitting and relaxing. Watching him melt slowly into the touch.

Jaebeom felt the way he hardened against his palm. The outline pressing firmer and firmer against the fabric. And the more it did, the more Jaebeom’s fingers formed around it. Smoothing over and gripping against him, sliding each knuckle across with slow, strong strokes.

Youngjae’s mouth fell open a little, like he might just give a small moan but, again, he seemed to catch it. Swallowing it down in favor of a soundless pant that had his chest collapsing inwards. Shoulders shuddering together.

Jaebeom licked his lips. Letting his fingers move upwards towards the waistband of his pants, slipping underneath. Grazing the hairs that trailed downward. He dipped his fingers further, slipping the waistband past his wrist until he was able to move unencumbered. He reached out, curling his fingers around Youngjae’s hard length.

Youngjae gasped, small and discreet. He maneuvered his hips upward, adjusting how he sat. Rocking himself into Jaebeom’s hand.

Jaebeom’s fist started to work against him. Slow at first, dragging out each motion. Too much friction in it. But as he moved towards the tip, he could feel the beads of precum squeezing themselves out. He swirled his thumb over it, spreading it around and smoothing it over the undersides of his knuckles. Relishing the feeling of it and imagining how it would taste if he licked it off, exaggerating each movement. The thought had him thrumming as he started to fist him more heavily. Watching how his face reacted. Drawing up on one side, raising himself up in his seat. Not able to control the rock of his hips. 

The sight alone was turning him on. Making him want to reach out his other hand and grab the boy’s face so he could lick into his mouth. But he withheld himself. Focusing everything on the flick of his wrist and the twinge of Youngjae’s cheek. But somewhere in the midst of his focus, his eyes flicked up and he nearly gasped at what he saw.

Across the aisle, Dr. Park was seated. And Jaebeom wondered why he hadn’t noticed him before they took off. But he wasn’t just sitting there. No. The doctor was looking back. His eyes open and dark with an intensity that had Jaebeom wanting to look away. His eyes heavy and glimmering. The sight had Jaebeom feeling the thinness of the air as if he couldn’t breathe it in. But despite the shock, Jaebeom couldn’t draw his gaze or his hand away.

He kept working his hand under the blanket. His eyes working down Dr. Park’s chest and down into his lap. Noticing the tightness of his trousers. The outline that harkened too closely to what Jaebeom was working in his hand with renewed vigor. Picking up the intensity of his strokes as he started to feel that flood of testosterone from his head to his toes.

He kept his eyes on Dr. Park, going back up to his face. Watching those heavy glittering eyes stare back. Longer than they ever had. And Jaebeom was living for the attention. He leaned back to Youngjae’s ear, “Fuck,” he hissed. “Keep your eyes closed for me.” He hummed. “So hard for me, huh?”

And Youngjae didn’t respond with words, just a frantic nod of his head. His chest rising and falling in quick succession.

Jaebeom twisted his wrist, barely caring about how it looked under the blanket. Feeling Youngjae’s tip seeping more and more between his fingers until the pumps were quick and frictionless. He didn’t let up, letting them build in succession. 

Youngjae’s hands clamored for the arm rests, gripping tight, knuckles white. His teeth gritted together. His brows tight. His back arching forward.

Dr. Park’s chest heaved. His mouth hung open, breaths visibly shuddering from his chest.

Jaebeom felt dizzy. Watching them both come undone like this. And it was becoming too much for him to bear. His mind feeling filthy in the heat. “God,” Jaebeom huffed in Youngjae’s ear. “You’re so fucking close. I want you to spill all over my hand. I want it so bad, Youngjae.”

Youngjae shoulders caved together, violently. His breath quaked out of his mouth. He came hard into Jaebeom’s hand just like he was told, filling the spaces between his knuckles. His chest rising and falling and his eyes still closed.

Jaebeom looked at him. Full of quiet wonder. His whole body thrumming from a high despite not being the one to come.

When Jaebeom looked back to Dr. Park’s seat, he was gone. His seatbelt left undone and his glasses sitting on the tray table as if part of him was still left watching. Jaebeom raised his head down the aisle, seeing the back of the doctor’s raven hair walking speedily towards the restroom. Jaebeom’s face somehow feeling even hotter at the thought of the doctor working himself into the airplane sink.

He tried to shake the imagery from his head, turning back towards Youngjae. He worked his hand out from Youngjae’s pants, cleaning all of the stickiness off against the blanket.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Youngjae said through gritted teeth, hitting his arm harshly. “Someone could have seen us.”

Jaebeom looked back to his bright face, unable to contain his smile. “So what? You look so fucking hot when you’re coming in secret for me.”

Youngjae sighed, smiling back. His eyes as clear and bright as the midday sky out the windows. “You’re the only one who thinks so,” he rolled his eyes.

And Jaebeom’s eyes went to Dr. Park’s empty seat. Playing back the look on his face. The quaking of his chest. The tenting of his trousers. “I don’t think I am,” Jaebeom murmured, mind racing.

\---

They were in a waiting room at the venue sometime after soundcheck. Luckily, no one else was there. Youngjae was hugging Jaebeom around his back, his chin resting on the sharp jut of his shoulder. In front of them, on the table sat two water bottles and an apple. In Jaebeom’s lap, Youngjae’s sketchbook sat open with shaky, contorted lines. Because Youngjae had insisted on giving Jaebeom an art lesson, setting up a still life for him to draw. With practically every motion, Jaebeom was scoffing and mumbling about how horrible it looked but Youngjae was patient. Encouraging him as he hung on his shoulder, looking over the sketchpad as he drew. 

“Connect these two lines here,” he pointed, tracing the path with his finger. “And then shade a little more under here.”

Jaebeom dragged the pencil across. Scraping it against the paper. Dark gray spilling from the tip. He let his tongue poke out of his mouth as he tried to shade. Working the pencil back and forth and hearing the gritting of graphite, rough and sharp.

“No, no,” Youngjae laughed. “Lighter, lighter.”

“This is my style,” Jaebeom shrugged, jostling him. He looked to his shoulder. “Who’s the artist?”

Youngjae smiled. “Who’s the teacher?” 

The door swung open and Youngjae immediately pulled off of Jaebeom’s shoulder, making space between them. They both looked up and saw Jackson.

The dancer’s face was tight. His eyes darting over to Youngjae, narrowing before turning towards Jaebeom. “Hyung,” he said, clipped. “Come on, we got to get into wardrobe.” He waved for him to follow and started for the door.

“One second,” Youngjae chimed back, stepping forward. “He’s almost finished.”

Jackson froze where he stood. Turning back. His lip moving up in a sneer. “Are you deaf?” he asked, his tone venomous. “I said he has to go.”

Youngjae scoffed. “Are you stupid?” he countered. “I said give him a god damn minute.”

Jackson’s shoulder straightened into a tight line, he stepped towards the boy. “Since when are you his manager?”

Youngjae crossed his arms over his chest. “Since when are you?”

Jackson’s eyebrows furrowed together. He took a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “Oh, I get it,” he taunted. “You think you’re so goddamn important cause the company pays you to sit around and make him smile-“

“Jackson,” Jaebeom sighed. Standing up and moving towards him. “Sto-“

“No,” Youngjae continued, ignoring Jaebeom. “The company pays me to keep him away from people like you who just want to stuff him with drugs.”

Jackson’s jaw tensed along with his dark eyes. He stepped up, going toe to toe with the boy. He shook his head. “You think you know anything about me?”

Youngjae shrugged. “There’s not much to know,” he raised his brows, nonchalantly. “You aren’t as interesting as you think you are.”

“You little shit-“ Jackson lunged forward, grabbing Youngjae by the front of his sweatshirt. 

Jaebeom rushed forward, pushing his hands against Jackson’s chest. “Yah!” he shouted. “Enough.”

Jackson looked back at him, his breaths seething out of his mouth. His eyes on fire.

“Youngjae,” Jaebeom said, not breaking his eye contact. “Leave us.”

The boy didn’t move. “I can take care of my-“

“Youngjae, please,” Jaebeom said. Less like an ask and more like a command.

Youngjae sighed. He dragged his feet as he left the room.

When the door shut, Jaebeom saw how Jackson tried to calm himself on the surface. The way he smoothed his hands through his hair and stretched out his neck. But still fuming somewhere underneath. Jaebeom shook his head. “Jacks. You can’t talk to him like that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jackson scoffed. “He’s a mischievous piece of shit.” He pointed towards the door, “He’s playing you. You must see that.”

“The only thing I see is you embarrassing yourself,” Jaebeom sighed.

Jackson exhaled, hot and heavy. “I’m trying to protect you, hyung.”

Jaebeom’s face twisted up. “From what? Some kid with a sketch pad trying to pay his student loans? I don’t get it, Jacks. I don’t see what you see in him.”

“I can’t explain it,” Jackson carded his hands through his hair. “I just know.”

“Well, until you can find some fucking evidence, you’re going to treat him with some respect,” Jaebeom said firmly. He held his hands up. “I don’t expect us to all be best friends but-“ Jaebeom stopped, seeing the way Jackson was watching him. Eyes narrow and inquisitive. Arms going to cross over his chest. “What?’

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Jackson said, his voice a bit shaky.

Jaebeom held his breath. Feeling the rush on anger welling up inside him. “What the fuck does that matter?”

Jackson was quiet. Still watching, diligently. Judgmentally. All of it playing out on his face.

Jaebeom’s skin crawled, feeling overexposed. He felt the sting of anger taking hold of everything. “Listen,” he bit out. “If you pull that kind of shit again, I’ll send you home without a second thought. There are other dancers out there and I can guarantee they won’t give me attitude like you will.” He inhaled through his nose. “Got it?”

Jackson looked up at him. Eyes sardonic. Jaw tight. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“Now, I don’t want to see your face until showtime,” Jaebeom pointed to the door.

Jackson licked his lips, as if he might try to have the last word. But if he had an idea of what he was going to say, it disintegrated under the tightness of his jaw. So, he just swiftly turned and walked himself out.

Once the room was empty, Jaebeom turned away, feeling the sinking feeling of his stomach. He put his hands to his hips. Thinking. Wondering retrospectively if he had spoken more out of anger than logic. Realizing he hadn’t felt a bitterness like that since he had drugs to soothe it with.

Arms came up around him, hands cool against his skin. And immediately, they soothed those thoughts until they were quiet in his mind. “I’m sorry,” Youngjae’s voice murmured softly, pressing himself against Jaebeom’s back.

Jaebeom turned in his arms. Looking down at him. “Why are you sorry?”

Youngjae looked up, eyes big and guilty. “I antagonized him. I shouldn’t have stooped to his level. I was being just as childish as he was.”

“It’s okay,” Jaebeom said, reaching his hands around his neck. “He shouldn’t bother you again.”

And they looked at each other for a moment, smiles growing across their faces.

“You should go,” Youngjae finally said. “You need to get ready.”

“You going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Youngjae said, his teeth poking through his smile. “I’m the strong one, remember?”

Jaebeom smiled, feeling the special ache in his chest.

Youngjae blinked. “I’ll see you after the show, Jaebeom-ssi.”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “Youngjae. You can call me hyung,” he shrugged. “I mean, after all. I’ve been inside you.”

Youngjae laughed, shaking his head. “Not everyone who’s had you inside them can call you hyung.”

“Yeah, but you’re special.”

Youngjae hummed, bringing his face closer. “Show me how special I am, hyung.”

Jaebeom felt it rush through him. He leaned forward, kissing him so softly and sweetly that he swore he could feel the morning light of the hotel warming between his shoulder blades. “I’ll show you tonight,” he whispered against his lips.

Youngjae smiled, “Fine. Go get ready then. I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed him again. Pulling away and waving at him before leaving the room.

\---

“Morning,” Jaebeom said when Dr. Park opened the door the next day. “You ready for me?”

Dr. Park looked a bit more casual today. His hair a little wavy in his face. A striped sweater and tight jeans. He nodded, chewing the last bite of a snack and wiping his hands against his jeans. “Come on in.” He beckoned him.

Jaebeom came into the room, surveying it casually. Saw neatness of his bag in the corner. The way the sheets were rustled yet attempted to be folded back into place.

“There’s only one chair,” Dr. Park shrugged. “So make yourself comfortable.” He beckoned towards the bed as he pulled the seat from the desk and flipped it around to take a seat. 

Jaebeom threw himself against the sheets, letting his hands fall behind his head. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Dr. Park huffed a barely detectable laugh but didn’t say anything else. He opened his notebook into his lap. Clicking his pen like he’d been eagerly anticipating it all day.

“So,” he inhaled. “What’s it feel like today?”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “Bittersweet.”

“Why’s that?”

He sighed. “Jackson and I fought.”

Dr. Park looked up. His eyes suddenly wide. “You what?”

“We-“ he grimaced.

“How’d that happen?” the doctor rushed to say.

Jaebeom sat up, hugging a pillow between his arms. Feeling a bit awkward under Dr. Park’s judgmental eyes. “It was on someone else’s behalf.”

“Who?”

Jaebeom’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Who do you think?”

The doctor’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly. “Really,” he said, not like a question.

“Mmm,” Jaebeom hummed, slotting his fingernail between his teeth. “They hate each other. I mean Youngjae doesn’t exactly get along with either Jackson or Yugyeom. And I get it. They are kind of opposites, right? And perhaps in their eyes, he was the one who stole away their party companion.”

“Mmhm,” Dr. Park noted.

“But it seems like it’s getting more personal than that,” Jaebeom tightened his arms against the pillow. “With Jackson especially. Youngjae really gets under his skin.”

“What was he doing?

“Nothing,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I mean we were just talking in the waiting room. And Youngjae was giving me a drawing lesson. And he was being silly. Kinda hanging on me. But then Jackson came in and started being confrontational.”

“So, you two were being affectionate.”

Jaebeom shifted. A little uneasy. “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe a little flirty. But I don’t know. I wouldn’t say that,” his voice rushed.

“And Jackson saw this. And his first thought was to fight Youngjae,” Dr. Park’s eyes were wide, as if he was saying something more than what he was saying.

Jaebeom couldn’t piece apart what he was inferring.

The doctor sighed. “If Jackson is acting intimidated by Youngjae being affection-

“Not affectionate, flirty,” Jaebeom interrupted.

Dr. Park rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever makes you feel better. If Jackson’s intimated by that, then don’t you think that-“ 

Jaebeom heard Dr. Park talking but he began to feel himself disengage. He became keenly aware of something that felt familiar but also unfamiliar. And the feeling of that familiarity had him trying to place what he was experiencing. He felt his nose wrinkle. That was it. The smell. He smelled again. He knew it from somewhere. 

Dr. Park must have realized he wasn’t listening because he stopped. Letting his shoulders drop. “What?”

Jaebeom shifted himself, letting his nose carry him. He let the pillow fall to the wayside as he braced himself on his forearms, letting his nose grace the white sheets. He took in a deep breath. 

He rose his head. “Sex,” he whispered out.

“What?” Dr. Park asked again. Pointed.

“You had sex in here,” Jaebeom looked back at him. He rushed to a smile. “Oh my god. Who are you fucking?”

Dr. Park’s face went cold and tight. “Jaebeom,” his tone warned.

His mind rushed. “Is it Mark?” Jaebeom sat up, not waiting for confirmation. “That bastard. He had the audacity to come for me and he’s fucking my hot therapist.”

“No,” he rushed to say. His hand coming to touch his forehead. “It’s not Mark.”

“Then, who is it?” Jaebeom’s eyes widened.

Dr. Park let the question hang in the air for a moment. He took a quick breath. “Come on,” he roused himself. He took off his glasses, throwing them down on the desk. He grabbed something else that Jaebeom hadn’t noticed before, stuffing it into his pocket.

“Where are we going?” Jaebeom got up from the bed.

“I’ll show you. Come on,” he said. 

Jaebeom followed him out the door and down the hall. Past the elevators and to the door of the stairwell. The doctor rushed up the stairs. The cement reverberated all the sounds of his feet. And Jaebeom watched for a moment, taking note of his hashtag worthy backside, before following suit, padding up after him. They ascended the stairs until the doctor was pushing open the door to the rooftop.

They crossed it, walking over to the edge. The view of Toronto’s skyline fell below them. The blue sky looking like it never ended. The CN tower breaking up the gray skyscrapers. Behind them, Lake Ontario poked through the cracks with shimmering blue ripples.

Dr. Park rummaged through his pocket. When he pulled out his fist, opening it to show, he had a blunt and a lighter. “If you shut up, I’ll share,” he said, his hair blowing into his eyes.

Jaebeom scanned the objects. He looked back up, a smirk growing across his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one keeping this from me?”

Dr. Park shrugged like he couldn’t bother to argue but of course he still did. “It’s legal here. It’s not addictive.”

“Wouldn’t you say that anything can be addictive for someone like me?” Jaebeom raised his eyebrow.

The doctor scoffed. “Do you want it or not?” he slipped the blunt between his lips, raising the lighter and shielding it from the wind as he lit up the end.

Jaebeom stared at the contour of his jawline, watching the way the shadow of it tightened when he drew a breath in. A deathly sharp edge that had him feeling warm despite the wind that was whipping his hair into his face.

“Dr. Park,” Jaebum snickered. “Look at you.”

The doctor held the smoke in his chest for a moment, making him broaden. He let out the stream of grey that dissipated quickly in the wind. “I’m not the one with the drug problem,” he countered.

Jaebeom leaned against the concrete of the roof’s edge. “Oh, you’ve got problems,” he smirked. “But they aren’t drugs.”

“Like what?” Dr. Park licked his lips, passing the blunt over to him.

“Me.” Jaebeom took the joint, putting it between his teeth and taking a long drag before blowing it out. The smoke ruminating around his head and his thoughts.

And if Dr. Park was feeling the heat, he sure didn’t show it. He managed to keep his gaze even until he was looking away. Indifferent. Leaning over the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re certainly my most puzzling one.”

Jaebeom hated how cool headed he was when he was desperately trying to piece him apart.

“You’re not gonna tell me who you’re sleeping with,” Jaebeom passed it back to him.

“Not yet,” Dr. Park said, almost to himself. He took it, sliding it between his pretty lips.

Jaebeom sighed but knew it was useless to pry when up against Dr. Park’s stone-cold pensiveness.

“You jealous?” the doctor offered, looking over to him. He blew out the smoke, his eyes highlighted with a tinge of glimmer. 

Jaebeom felt the heat curl inside. He hated how good the doctor looked, all casual and putting a blunt between his pink lips. He watched the way they parted and pursed when he blew, not caring if he was being obvious. “God,” he sighed. “I can’t believe you're thousands of miles away from your spouse, sleeping with someone here, yet you wouldn’t even kiss me in your office.”

“You know why I didn’t kiss you that time?” Dr. Park took one more drag, handing it back. 

Jaebeom scoffed, taking it and putting it to the corner of his mouth. “Cause you thought I was an asshole.”

“I mean yes,” he laughed. “But more than that.” He took in a deep breath. Looking out over the skyline. “I knew the only way you could rationalize being vulnerable with me was to reason that you were trying to get something from it. Sex or whatever,” he waved his hand. “So, if I’d let you have it. If I’d let you kiss me up against that wall. It wouldn’t be genuine. It would just be another way to keep yourself hidden.” He looked back over to him. His eyes hinting at a question. As if he wanted confirmation for his theory.

Jaebeom took a hit, considering. Hating how transparent Dr. Park made him feel. “You’re probably right,” he blew it out, shrugging. “But I’m not hiding anymore.”

“You’re not,” Dr. Park agreed.

“So it’s different now.”

The doctor licked his lips, suppressing a smirk. “You could say that.”

Jaebeom looked at him. His eyes unobstructed by glasses. Unexplainably warm. Dancing around something when all Jaebeom wanted to do was dive right in. “Are we not gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” the doctor said, playing stupid or already feeling the weed. Jaebeom couldn’t tell.

Jaebeom handed it back. “What happened on the plane?”

Dr. Park didn’t say anything for a moment. Letting the moment stretch on as he took a hit. The only sound was the whipping wind and the sizzle of the blunt’s tip. The doctor blew out, turning back to Jaebeom. “Nothing happened,” he shrugged.

Jaebeom’s chest suddenly felt tight. And he must have been feeling the haze because his mind was playing back that look on Dr. Park’s face. Heavy eyes. Tightness in his lap. His chest quivering with a gasping breath. “You saw me touching Youngjae,” Jaebeom said, too boldly. “You watched us. As if you wanted more than anything for it to be you.”

Dr. Park didn’t falter. He shook his head. “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Then what did you want?”

The doctor sighed. He didn’t say anything. Looking out over the cityscape, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Jaebeom felt infuriated. Watching his handsome profile look out. “God,” he scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

Dr. Park huffed a laugh. Not turning. Passing. “Why’s that?”

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes as he dragged. And maybe he shouldn’t have been so honest but the weed and the way Dr. Park was looking when the wind blew the hair into his face, making his eyes crinkle into beautiful little whiskers, was diminishing his filter. “You’re so cold,” he said, taking the blunt between his fingers. “So apathetic. I swear. Do you open up for anyone? Even your spouse?”

Dr. Park’s fingers picked the joint from his hand. He held it up, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. He picked it between his fingers and snuffed it into the concrete they were leaning on. A black ashy smear blending out into a jagged circle. 

The doctor looked over. His eyes tight and fixed. “You want me to fawn over you? Like some fan?”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “But give me something. You make me feel like I’m crazy. I keep telling myself it’s all in my head but then you look at me a certain way and I can’t help but think maybe there’s something there. And it sucks.” He sighed, throwing his arms. “So just, like, anything. Anything I can hold on to.”

Dr. Park turned towards him, with firm determination he took a step forward, filling Jaebeom’s space. 

Jaebeom was silenced by the sudden proximity. He looked back at him. His face faltering as he saw the doctor so close. And it wasn’t like the office because his eyes were unobstructed and his clothes were casual and his bangs were messily blowing into his eyes. As if he was the most exposed Jaebeom had ever seen him.

But still firmly in control, Dr. Park backed Jaebeom against the concrete, bracing a palm on either side of him. Overwhelming him. Their noses a fraction of an inch apart. So close that Jaebeom could see the light brown of his eyes glimmering in a way that had that warmth in his core somersaulting through him, leaving him dizzy.

Dr. Park closed in, hovering in that space between. And Jaebeom could feel the hot breath against his mouth, making him ache all over. Like he’d never wanted anything as much as this. And for a moment, he almost thought he wouldn’t get it. That Dr. Park would pull away with a sardonic smile across his handsome face. Laughing about how he bested him again. Got him riled up for nothing.

But that wasn’t this time, as a moment later, Dr. Park was pressing warm, soft lips against his. Filling all the negative space with his plush, pink mouth. Craning his head, to push deeper towards him. Until their hips were meeting, Jaebeom’s hands instinctively reaching out and gripping, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.

The doctor’s motions melted into each other. The brush of his nose when he angled his head the other way. How his curled forefinger raised Jaebeom’s chin up towards his mouth. His thumb somehow nudging into the space between to drag his lower lip down a fraction and slide his tongue in.

Jaebeom swept his tongue over the doctor’s, tasting that weed on his breath, sweet and herbal. And his head spun circles and he knew that if Dr. Park had pushed him, in his vertigo, he’d go toppling over the edge, to his death, and be perfectly content with these as his last few moments.

Dr. Park drew back, leaving Jaebeom to chase his lips with a whine in his throat. 

The doctor smiled. Voice coming out rough and warm. “Is that enough for you?”

“No,” Jaebeom whined, stubbornly. “I need more.”

Dr. Park smirked. “I’ve got to go pack.” He stepped back, loosening away from Jaebeom’s grip.

Jaebeom sighed. Seeing the moment dissipate before his eyes. Just as fleeting as that feeling of the doctor’s warm lips on his. Cursing himself for being even slightly surprised. He looked back at him. Swallowing down his frustrations. Trying to give dignity a shot. “See you in Dallas, Dr. Park?” he asked.

The doctor licked his lips, still shiny and flushed from the kiss. “Don’t call me that. Not here. Not like this.”

“What do I call you then?”

He looked to his feet. Drawing in a breath before looking back up. “Call me Jinyoung.”

Jaebeom took in a breath. “Jinyoung,” he said it slow. Letting the taste of it fill his mouth. And it didn’t have that same staleness that the honorific had. Instead it felt warm and fluid and thrilling. “I’ll see you in Dallas, Jinyoung,” this time not making it a question but a fact.

And Jinyoung smirked one last time before walking himself back to the door of roof. Leaving Jaebeom to watch with his lip between his teeth.


	8. Dallas

They were at the Toronto airport, waiting for their flight to Dallas. Youngjae and Jaebeom were sitting in a coffee shop across from their gate. Jaebeom had his cap low, facing Youngjae who sat across from him in the booth in order to keep away any attention from fan sites. They were drinking their coffees in comfortable silence when Youngjae looked over towards the gate with an apathetic glance.

“Who’s that guy?” he said, nodding his head towards the gate.

Jaebeom looked over, keeping his face low and his shoulders high. He saw the grouping of random staff passively talking as they waited to board.

“What guy?” Jaebeom glanced back towards him, taking another sip.

“On your staff. The one sitting down reading. The one who never talks to anyone.” Youngjae beckoned with a little more energy.

Jaebeom looked over again, looking past the group to see Dr. Park, no, Jinyoung, seated nearby. A book in his lap and his posture ramrod straight. Jaebeom felt the skip of his heart. A subtle fever creeping upwards. He looked back to Youngjae again, having a hard time meeting his eyes. “That’s my therapist.”

“Oh,” Youngjae’s eyes went wide. “That’s him?”

Jaebeom nodded not sure what to say. Head still reeling from the kiss on the rooftop just hours ago. The feeling against the doctor’s mouth still a close enough memory that he could play it back in his mind.

And Youngjae stared back distantly reading him. Thinking it through. But if he had a thought, an idea on the tip of his tongue, he restrained himself. Instead, taking a deep breath in and announcing, “Hey. I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Jaebeom said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Youngjae left and Jaebeom took out his book, prepared to pick up where he left off in his latest read. He had noticed that the reading was getting easier. His eyes were no longer darting around the page in a way that made it hard to keep up with the words. He wasn’t struggling to focus nearly as much. And he thought that this might be a positive check for sobriety.

The table buzzed. One time. Two times. And Jaebeom looked to see that Youngjae had left his phone on the table. And Jaebeom really didn’t mean to look. His eyes barely flashed over it to start. But something caught his eye.

_Norman Rockwell: Missing you._  
_Norman Rockwell: When are you free to talk?_

The messages were upside down but still clear as day. Jaebeom read it again before the screen went dark. Struggling to understand. And it hit him like a truck when he realized that he had never asked Youngjae if he was single in the first place. And he suddenly felt uneasy in that way he always did when he realized that despite his eagerness to open up and be vulnerable with Youngjae, he really didn’t know him that well.

Shortly after, Youngjae came back to the table. 

Jaebeom stared down at his book. The reading that had been coming easier to him had abruptly become impossible and his mind was instead occupied with thoughts of Youngjae.

The boy picked up his phone, swiping it open and typing.

And Jaebeom started fiddling with the corner of the page, as if he was going to flip but instead, he just kept toying with it between his fingers. Thinking over and over again about those messages and who Norman Rockwell could even be. What he could mean to Youngjae.

“Hey,” Jaebeom said suddenly, attempting to sound perfectly normal. “Could we,” he scratched at the hair under the edge of his cap, “talk about something?”

Youngjae’s eyes immediately darted up to his. His face concerned.

“It’s not…” Jaebeom sighed. “It’s nothing bad.”

Youngjae’s face didn’t falter. “Then, why are you so nervous?”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“I can see that,” he blinked.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Youngjae furrowed his brows. “You’re scaring me.”

“I wanted to talk about…” the air hung heavy between them as Jaebeom willed himself to say it. “Exclusivity.”

Youngjae’s face didn’t calm. If anything, it may have gotten a little tighter. He put his phone down on the table. “Uh huh,” he said.

“I don’t…” Jaebeom started. “I like you. You know that. But… I don’t expect you to… I’m not your boyf-”

“Hyung, stop,” Youngjae interrupted. “It’s okay. You don’t need to say it.”

“Just let me anyway. Just so we are clear,” Jaebeom urged, sitting up. He tried to start again. “I’m not looking for that. I just want us to enjoy each other’s company. If someone else is in your life… That’s not my place. I don’t want to keep you all to myself.”

Youngjae didn’t speak for a long moment. “There’s someone else then?”

Jaebeom shrugged. He beckoned towards the phone on the table. “There’s someone else for you.”

Youngjae looked down at it. Face a little solemn. Accepting the truth. “Yeah,” he said, sullen.

Jaebeom felt a rush of nerves. “Well, I just want you to know that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Youngjae nodded. “It’s okay for you too. You know. To be with other people.” He stopped. “Just promise me, it’s not Jackson,” he sighed. “He doesn’t need the encouragement.”

And that awkwardness that had been weighing down the conversation felt like it was dissipating. Sun breaking up storm clouds. Jaebeom couldn’t help but laugh. He looked down to his book, suddenly a bit shy. “It’s not Jackson,” he shook his head.

“Thank god,” Youngjae held his chest in mock exasperation. “I don’t think I could take anymore of him marking you as his territory.”

“Shut up,” Jaebeom smiled, letting his shoe push the boy’s shin under the table.

“Hey, JB hyung,” Bambam slid next to Youngjae. “Hey, Youngjae hyung.”

“Don’t call us hyung,” Jaebeom narrowed his eyes.

“He can call me hyung,” Youngjae shrugged.

Bam beamed. “See,” he looked to Jaebeom. “This is what I want.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes at Youngjae.

Youngjae smiled, “I’ll leave you two to it.” And he got up, making his way towards the gate.

“How are you?” Bam asked.

“I’m fine,” Jaebeom said. “Why’s it always got to be about me?”

“You’re the reason all of us have jobs.”

Jaebeom sighed, “How’s that dark corner of the internet you inhabit?”

“Funny you ask,” Bambam pursed his lips.

Jaebeom stopped, looking up at him. “What now?”

“There’s a fan account,” Bam started, twiddling his thumbs and not meeting his eyes. “That claims she was waiting across the street for you to come out of your hotel today and she saw you on the roof with your therapist.”

Jaebeom’s head swam with the information. “And?”

“She couldn’t get a picture. But is it true?” Bam looked up. “Did you kiss him?”

Jaebeom sighed. He felt himself getting hot. “What’s it matter?”

“Hyung,” Bambam gaped. He looked over to the gate. “Youngjae?”

Jaebeom grimaced, gritting his teeth. “Bam. You’re meddling.”

Bam closed his mouth. Sitting back. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaebeom bit out. “And I’m sick of you inserting yourself into my life like you’re a liaison between me and the fans because you are arrogant enough to think you are anything more than one of them.”

Bambam looked back, visibly dejected. “Fine,” he licked his lips. “I’m just trying to be a friend, hyung.”

“You’re not my friend and I’m not your hyung,” Jaebeom got up, turning to walk back to the gate. Not looking back. 

He found Youngjae, taking the seat next to him. He paused. Thinking for a moment. He reached out, putting a hand to the boy’s knee. “Hey,” he held a breath in his chest. “Can I ask a favor?”

Youngjae looked back at him. Those same concerned eyes. “Sure.”

“Can you,” Jaebeom grimaced. “Can you stay off any sites that talk about me? For a little while?”

And the question didn’t leave, but Youngjae nodded. Trusting. “Okay.”

\---

They landed in Dallas, drove to the venue, did soundcheck, and a couple hours later, Jaebeom was reading with his head in Youngjae’s lap. In one of the boy’s hands was his phone, while the other ran lightly through Jaebeom’s hair.

Jaebeom sighed, putting his book across his chest and looking up to him. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fall asleep.”

Youngjae looked down. “You can’t. You got a show to do.”

“I don’t want to,” Jaebeom sat up, putting his book to the side. He scooted himself towards Youngjae, letting his hand go to the boy’s face and turn it towards him. “I want to go back to the room with you and order room service and stay up late talking.”

“Just talking?” Youngjae raised a brow. 

“Well,” Jaebeom smirked, his hand dropping down to his chest. “Maybe not just talking.”

Youngjae shook his head. “How do you get up on a stage and look like you’re about to murder someone, yet, on the inside, you’re just desperately soft and sweet and good?”

Jaebeom’s fingers traced circles against the boy’s chest. And the words just came out. “It’s easy to be good when you find the people worth being good for,” he whispered. And he thought back to Dr. Park’s hotel room and the way his pretty mouth turned up when he said it. 

Youngjae’s lips pulled into a soft smile, looking back at Jaebeom with unwavering eyes. He looked like he might say something, his shoulders and chest drawing up. But then, the breath left his chest and his shoulders dropped and he leaned forward, kissing him softly.

Jaebeom kissed back feeling how the sweetness made his head spin. His hand slipping upwards to grip the back of his neck and keep drawing him closer. He raised his knee, letting himself twist across Youngjae’s lap and sit down. Other hand coming up to grip the other side of his neck. 

Youngjae’s hands felt for his thighs with splayed fingers.

Jaebeom opened his mouth and felt the way Youngjae did too. Like this was getting routine enough for them to know what was next. And Jaebeom distantly thought that he had never experienced that before. He slid his tongue against Youngjae’s, craning his head to get deeper. His hips rolling down against his lap, slow and meticulous.

“Hyung,” Youngjae breathed. His hands came up to push against Jaebeom’s chest. “Come on. Don’t start. We both got to go.”

Jaebeom whined. “I have time,” he said, bringing his face closer. “I can be quick.”

“When will you learn,” Youngjae rolled his eyes. “This is what hotel rooms are for. Not airplanes. Not waiting rooms.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy it,” Jaebeom smirked.

Youngjae tried to keep from smiling. “I’ll see you later,” he said, shoving him back onto the couch and getting up. He waved to Jaebeom, heading out the door.

Jaebeom watched him go before picking his book back up. He sat back, finding a comfortable seat and starting to read again. He heard the door open again. Steady footsteps, echoing through the room. He didn’t raise his head. “Did you have a change of heart?” he said. He looked up.

And he held back a gasp when he saw that it was Jinyoung. The man leaning himself against the wall with his arms across his tight chest. No glasses again. His eyes glittering back. And his smirk wide.

Jaebeom felt the curling of warmth in his stomach. His hands tightened around the edges of the book.

“Maybe,” Jinyoung shrugged.

Jaebeom held a breath in. “What are you doing here?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “It’s Dallas. What else is there to do?”

Jaebeom huffed. “Fair.”

Jinyoung paused. “Do you want to show me around?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom nodded. “I do.”

He got up, following Jinyoung out of the room. He gave him the tour. He showed him the catering cart, the dressing room with rows of stage clothes and shoes and accessories laid out. Jinyoung nodded, asking the right questions, running his hands across the racks of clothing. All the while, not showing too much interest. And sometime after that, Jaebeom was sitting on the stage, watching Jinyoung stand at the edge. The way he leaned onto one leg. The way his pants hugged his curves. Jaebeom not trying to hide the way he couldn’t look away from him.

“So,” Jinyoung looked upon the seats. “this is your office.”

“Yup.”

“Is it always this big?” Jinyoung sighed, turning back towards him. Sounding a little surprised.

Jaebeom smiled. “Sometimes it’s bigger. Like when you’re around.”

And Jinyoung rolled his eyes.

Jaebeom laughed. He stood up. “Let me show you underneath,” he called, waving towards the staircase. “That’s where all the magic happens.”

Jinyoung smirked, following him down the stairs. 

But they didn’t get far cause as soon as they were surrounded by the dark curtains, Jinyoung grabbed his shoulder and shoved him up the wall. He pressed his chest and hips into Jaebeom, pinning him. He drew their faces close.

Jaebeom felt the air leave his lungs at Jinyoung’s sudden proximity. His hands instinctively reaching out and lacing around his hips.

“See,” Jaebeom grinned. “That magic.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Shut up,” he bit out before kissing him. His hands working themselves into his hair. His mouth slipping down to his neck, grating his teeth against the skin.

Jaebeom held back a moan, closing his eyes. “I’m starting to think someone likes kissing me,” he breathed, grinning.

Jinyoung hummed against his skin, kissing up his ear. “Who could that be?” he murmured before tugging his lobe with his teeth.

“Ah,” Jaebeom whined. “Jinyoung.” The sound of his name tasting just as warm and fluid as last time. His eyes fluttered open. And even though the area was dimly lit, he could see the outline of a person standing at the entrance. A wash of panic had him pushing Jinyoung away, hastily. “Jacks, hey,” Jaebeom said, breathless.

Jinyoung stumbled back, looking over and seeing Jackson. He licked his lips, turning away from them. Combing his frenzied hair down with one hand. 

Jackson looked between them. His face stale. His jaw tight. “Are you…” he started to say. Before losing his words. He restarted. “Are you ready to go? They need you now.”

Jaebeom nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.” He looked back to Jinyoung quickly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jinyoung waved, heading off in the opposite direction.

Jaebeom fell into place behind Jackson, walking down the hall towards hair and makeup. Looking up and seeing the tension making a home between his athletic shoulders.

“Are you not gonna ask?” Jaebeom said.

Jackson didn’t speak for a moment. “It’s not worth asking anymore.”

And something about it hurt. But Jaebeom could see how heated Jackson was getting and didn’t want to push him any further. So, he just buttoned his mouth and kept following.

\---

By the time Jaebeom got back to the hotel after the show, he was anything but tired. He was almost to the elevator when he heard someone calling for him.

“Jaebeom!”

He turned and saw Mark running up.

“Wait up,” he breathed. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Jaebeom furrowed his brows.

The elevator doors opened. Mark looked to the staff. “Let me walk him,” he told them, watching them stand back. “Let’s go up,” Mark beckoned, getting inside.

Jaebeom followed, letting the doors shut them in together. The mirrored walls echoing their reflections infinite times.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” Mark fingers rapping against the handrails, reading nervous.

“I’m okay,” Jaebeom nodded, trying not to watch.

Mark sighed. “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“You,” Mark said. “And your… new friends.”

Jaebeom looked at him, confused.

Mark licked his lips, “Youngjae and Dr. Park.”

The elevator dinged on their floor, opening the doors. Mark got out, starting down the hallway.

Jaebeom watched him for a moment. Stunned. He paced faster to catch up with him. “What about them?”

Mark sighed, looking down at the carpet as he spoke. “I guess when we started the tour, I thought that they seemed like good distractions. Even if I could tell you were into them. They were better than having you on the pills again. But people see you with them and they come to me about it. Or they spread rumors online,” Mark stopped, looking up at Jaebeom. “I don’t know. I just thought you’d sleep with them, fire them, keep going. That had always been the pattern for these kinds of things.”

Jaebeom gritted his teeth. “So what? I didn’t,” he threw his arms. “But I’ve done what the company wants. I’ve stayed clean for now,” he rushed to say. “They’re doing their jobs and I’m doing mine. I don’t see the problem.”

“I don’t know,” Mark felt the back of his neck. “It just kind of feels like you needed another addiction and they slipped in.”

Jaebeom swallowed hard. “Why are you making this sound like such a big deal? They’re both with other people. It’s just a tour thing. It’s not serious.”

“Not serious for them or not serious for you?”

“Either,” Jaebeom said firmly.

“I hope it’s not. But I’ve known you for a long time, Jaebeom. And, granted, I haven’t known you sober. But I certainly didn’t expect for it to look like you pining over two unattainable people.”

Jaebeom sighed. Not wanting to talk about this anymore. “It’s fine, hyung,” he said, starting back down the hall.

Mark grabbed his arm, stilling him. “I’m not saying this as your manager. I’m saying this as one of your oldest friends. I don’t want to see you getting hurt,” his eyes serious. “Remember they aren’t yours to have. They belong to other people.”

Jaebeom looked back. His eyes wide. Mark’s touch feeling like a burn alongside his words. And Jaebeom wanted to argue, but after his run in with Bam, he felt like he was repeating the same conversation. So, he restrained himself. “I won’t make that mistake,” he said before buttoning his lips.

“Have a good night, Jaebeom,” Mark said, waving to him and continuing down the hall.

Jaebeom watched Mark walk away. Shaking off the serious tone of the conversation. When he opened up the door to the room, Youngjae was lying in bed, his sketchpad in his lap and his eyes closed. Fast asleep.

And even though Mark’s words were making a home for themselves somewhere in the depths of his mind, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking the sketchpad from the boy’s hands.

The boy began to stir. “Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. “You’re back.”

“You were asleep,” Jaebeom smiled.

Youngjae rubbed his eye. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m just wiped.”

“Go to sleep,” Jaebeom leaned forward, moving his bangs away to kiss his forehead. “I’ve been running you ragged with all this travel.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m just going to go visit a friend,” Jaebeom shrugged.

Youngjae looked up at him. His eyes round and questioning, “You sure it’s the right kind of friend?”

Jaebeom couldn’t help but smile, leaning in again to kiss his lips this time. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Youngjae let out a soft breath of laugh against his mouth. “Okay. Go then.”

Jaebeom felt a scent filling his head. He pulled away for a moment. “Why do you smell like wine?”

Youngjae shrugged. “I had a glass with my dinner while you were at your show.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “I like it.” he kissed him again. Willing himself to stop and pull away. “Sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Youngjae nodded, turning over to fall back asleep.

Jaebeom backed away. He went to Youngjae’s bag, taking something out and slipping it into the pocket of his pants.

Jaebeom only had to travel two floors down to find the room he was looking for. He knocked on the door. When Jinyoung opened it, he was wearing sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. His black hair was still damp from a shower. Looking soft and frayed.

“Yes?” he said. And immediately, there was something in his eyes. A certain sparkle that Jaebeom couldn’t place.

“Hey,” Jaebeom smiled, leaning into the side of the doorway. “You busy?”

Jinyoung smirked. “What do you want, Jaebeom?”

He looked at him in his pajamas and a hint of stubble on his face. Seeing him so unkempt made him feel warm. “I just wanted to be around you.”

Jinyoung’s face stilled but didn’t change. He stepped aside, letting him in. 

Jinyoung’s room wasn’t a new sight for him, but he usually didn’t see it at this hour. And he definitely never saw a glass of wine perched at his bedside or the way his sheets were messy and his clothes were piled in the corner.

“Where’s your buddy?” Jinyoung asked, taking a seat at the desk.

“He was tired, so I let him sleep,” Jaebeom perched himself on the edge of the bed.

Jinyoung smiled. That sparkle in his eyes glimmering again.

Jaebeom became aware of the music floating through the air from Jinyoung’s laptop. He listened for a moment, before scoffing, “You gotta be kidding me?”

“What?” Jinyoung questioned, smiling.

Jaebeom shook his head. “You listen to Sinatra in your free time?”

Jinyoung’s mouth stiffened into a pout. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “What’s wrong with Frank Sinatra?”

“Nothing,” Jaebeom laughed. “It’s just like… of course you do. I remember my grandma used to listen to this.”

“I’ve got you under my skin,” Jinyoung began to sing under his breath. His voice low and rich.

Jaebeom let out another laugh. He watched him.

Jinyoung stood up, moving his feet from side to side, swiveling his hips. “I tried so, not to give in,” he sang, increasing his volume. “I said to myself this affair never will go so well.”

“Oh my god,” Jaebeom looked up at him, realizing. “You’re drunk. You’re totally drunk right now.”

Jinyoung shrugged, not trying to deny it. “You going to mock me or join me.” He outstretched his hand.

Jaebeom shook his head before taking it. Letting himself be pulled up and close. Jinyoung grabbing his waist and his hand. He moved to the beat, leading Jaebeom. Jaebeom could smell the wine on his breath as he kept singing.

“In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear,” Jinyoung pulled him close, singing softly into his ear. He pulled him away, spinning him around. “Don’t you know, little fool. You never can win…”

Jaebeom joined him. “I’ve got you under my skin.”

The song ended and the room’s sound was replaced with the low hum of a highway nearby. Jinyoung tried to step back but fumbled instead, hitting the ground hard.

Jaebeom gasped. “Are you okay?” he tried to tamper his smile.

Jinyoung burst out laughing. “Yeah,” he waved. “I’m fine.” He shifted himself, leaning his back up against the bed.

Jaebeom squatted down, joining him. He felt the brush of Jinyoung’s body against his. 

Jinyoung leaned his head against Jaebeom’s shoulder. 

“How’d you even get this drunk?” Jaebeom spoke, trying not to lean into the smell of Jinyoung’s freshly washed hair.

“Can’t say,” Jinyoung tilted his face up, smiling. “It’s a secret.”

Jaebeom smiled back. His eyebrows moving up. “Oh. Is this your secret tour lover?”

Jinyoung nodded.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “And yet, here you are. Drunk and alone. And where is he?”

Jinyoung shrugged. Animated and bright in a way he wasn’t usually. “He had to go.”

Jaebeom scoffed. “What an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one,” Jinyoung smirked. He reached up to the bedside table, feeling around for the stem of the wine glass. He brought its edge to his lips and finished it off. “What’s it like?” Jinyoung said, voice echoing inside the glass.

“What’s what like?”

Jinyoung huffed a laugh, putting glass back and leaning back into Jaebeom’s shoulder. “Knowing I’m sleeping with someone. And that it’s not you.”

Jaebeom felt his chest stir with a flood of something. Not nerves but a certain heat. One that he reserved strictly for Jinyoung. “Are you psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Lightweight?” he got more comfortable, leaning his head against Jinyoung’s as well.

“No,” he turned, punching his arm. “I just…” he sighed, he settled again. His face turned away. “I wanna know.”

Jaebeom reached out, grabbing his chin and forcing their eyes to meet. “They’re not me,” he shook his head. “And if they were, you wouldn’t be the one kissing me on every surface you can find.”

Jinyoung looked back at him. His eyes going dark. He pulled his chin out of his grasp, stubbornly, pushing away from him. “I’m highly suggestible right now. So, don’t give me any ideas.”

Jaebeom felt the rush under his skin from where Jinyoung wasn’t pressing into his side anymore. He noted it was the longest breach of physical contact they’d ever had. And it only made him hungry for more. So when words came out, confident and obscene, they only worked against him. Only made his own heartbeat heighten and his own body ache. “You should let me fuck you.”

Jinyoung seemed unphased. Not skipping a beat. “Who says I’d let you?”

Jaebeom felt hot all over. “Fine,” he shrugged. He shifted himself, sliding a knee across Jinyoung’s lap until he was seated, straddling him. 

He saw Jinyoung’s eyes meet his. Not stopping him but not taking him seriously either. Still wearing that smirk. Jaebeom wondered why everything about him seemed like a challenge.

Jaebeom licked his lips. “Then you should fuck me.”

Jinyoung’s smirk fell. His face hardened. “Get off me, Jaebeom,” he said, nothing in his voice.

Jaebeom felt his stomach drop with that feeling of disappointment. Immediately knowing that he read the moment wrong. That Jinyoung was just trying to tease him again. He got up, slowly standing to his feet.

Jinyoung stood up too. Standing across from him. So close that he could see the way his lips parted slightly before he spoke. “Turn off the light,” he said.

A breath left Jaebeom’s chest. His head rushed. “What?”

“Turn off the light,” he repeated, his voice firm.

Jaebeom felt that fever creeping up his spine. Everything feeling slow motion as he leaned over to the bedside table. Fingers finding the switch of the lamp. He held Jinyoung’s gaze as he flicked it off.

Jaebeom felt that curling warmth of testosterone meeting the fever and igniting through every part of him. And it was still so shocking to Jaebeom how they weren’t even touching, yet the feeling was so strong. How he wanted to know how much hotter it could burn when they did touch.

And maybe that was what Jinyoung wanted to know too because he grabbed Jaebeom’s shirt and brought him in for a bruising kiss. Nothing like that soft, sensual kiss on the roof. And not as secretive and private like the one under the stage. Now it was laced with a certain emboldened immediacy. Like they were tired of waiting. Tired of hiding. Like their tension was a whirlpool that had been spinning them together slowly and now they were being swallowed down, drowned together.

Jinyoung licked into his mouth. His hands moving down to his hips to hold him firmly.

Jaebeom’s hands moving up his neck, combing into that raven hair at his nape and pulling to open up the angle.

Jinyoung whined into his mouth at the tug.

And something about it had Jaebeom brimming with a certain power. Up until that moment, he could never cut through Jinyoung’s tricks and words but maybe in this arena, he could best him. That rush of confidence overwhelmed him as he put his hands to the man’s chest and pushed him down onto the bed. He crawled over him. He put a hand between his legs, feeling the way he was somehow already hard. He worked his hand against it, like he had with Youngjae on that plane while Jinyoung watched. Remembering his stuttering breaths and his dark eyes. He saw all those same tells again within him. The way all his strong qualities had their breaking point. 

Jinyoung was reactive in a way he never was. His breaths nearly gasping against Jaebeom’s mouth. And when he pulled away, his eyes were no longer cold and hard but warm and glimmering in the light of the street lamps outside. Jinyoung reached his hands out, clawing at Jaebeom’s back to pull his shirt off. 

Jaebeom ducked out of it, letting it be tossed to the floor. He let his hands push up the fabric of Jinyoung’s shirt, feeling at that tight skin that coated his lean muscle. Smooth and taut. He hooked his fingers into the fabric, pulling it off his body and casting it aside.

He smoothed his hand over his bulge again. Fingers dipping under the waistband and seizing him.

“Just take them off,” Jinyoung said, a little begging in his voice.

Jaebeom smirked. Surprised how eager the doctor sounded. He pulled away, gripping eager fingers along his hips and tugging the pants down, quickly. He cast them aside, slotting himself between his open legs.

He looked down to Jinyoung’s hardness between them, seeing how swollen and needy he was. He brought his hand around it. Hearing the way Jinyoung moaned instantly at the touch. The way he twitched in his hand, already too slick. Already too eager. And something about it clicked into place. Jaebeom panted, “You didn’t cum when you were with him.”

Jinyoung bit his lip, quieting himself. He shook his head. “He wouldn’t let me,” he breathed. “I was supposed to save it for you.”

And Jaebeom’s mind ran marathons between two points. Between wondering what the fuck he was talking about and thinking it was the hottest thing he ever heard. His hand almost instinctively working itself down to Jinyoung’s entrance and feeling the way his rim was still wet and loose with another man’s cum. And the thought had him reeling. But he didn’t have the time to process it so he just hurried on. He took the lube from his pocket and slicked Jinyoung up with a twist of his hand, feeling how he instantly fell open.

When he could tell he was ready, he stood up from the bed and hurriedly took off his own pants. Hopping ungracefully on one leg to kick them off. He got back on the bed, climbing on top. He lined Jinyoung up against his entrance and eased himself down. Feeling the way the burn gave way to pleasure. Snaking up and down his whole body. He raised himself up, arching his back and letting his head roll up toward the ceiling. He brought himself down again.

Jinyoung’s hands crept up his chest, feeling at every contour. “Fuck, Jaebeom,” Jinyoung breathed. “God, you’re so beautiful like this.”

Jaebeom’s ears burned from the praise. He began to work himself along Jinyoung, easing them into a rhythm. Feeling the way Jinyoung pulsed inside of him, hips kicking up to meet his in the middle.

Jaebeom’s hands grabbed Jinyoung’s off his chest. He fell forward, intertwining their fingers as he pinned him down. “Tell me,” he panted. “Tell me you wanted this.”

Jinyoung looked up at him with dark eyes. “I wanted this.”

Jaebeom felt that curl like a tsunami. “How long?”

Jinyoung licked his lips. “Since they handed me your file.”

The answer surprised Jaebeom. To think that Jinyoung had wanted him since before they even met. And it made him think that maybe he hadn’t just worn Jinyoung down until this point. Maybe Jinyoung had been his all along. And the thought had that hole inside of him reaching out, all too familiar. He leaned down, crashing their lips together as he rode him. Mercilessly picking up the rhythm.

“Fuck, Jaebeom,” he gasped into his mouth. “I’m gonna-“ he whined.

Jaebeom didn’t slow for him. “Then do it, Dr. Park. Do it.”

Jinyoung’s chest caved inwards and his mouth opened wide against Jaebeom’s and his moaned loud, releasing inside of him.

Jaebeom freed his hands, sitting himself up in Jinyoung’s lap. Wanting to relish in the slow pulses pressing themselves against his walls.

But as soon as his hands were free, Jinyoung leaned himself up on his elbow and curled one around Jaebeom’s length, pumping him immediately. His biceps flexing under the skin and his lip going between his teeth with effort. Looking up at him and watching his face.

“Oh, god,” Jaebeom whined. The feeling was too much after not having been touched the whole time. His hands moved back towards his feet to hold himself up. His hips kicking up into his hand and his torso stretched long, back arching. He only lasted a few more pumps before he was climaxing onto Jinyoung’s stomach, dripping down his wrist and forearm.

Jaebeom slid off, crashing down on the bed. His eyes closed and his chest heaving. He lay there for a long moment, his breaths calming down. He opened his eyes and saw Jinyoung looking back at him. That glimmer not dulled by the end of the session.

Jaebeom felt that hole in his chest again. Endlessly yearning. And he told himself that it was lying. “I should go,” he whispered into the darkness. 

“Don’t,” Jinyoung’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. His hands reached out and pulled Jaebeom closer.

“But Youngjae,” Jaebeom whispered out. Not meaning to mention his name in a place like this but in the flurry of thoughts and excuses that wanted to pile themselves up on his tongue, it came out regardless.

“He will understand,” Jinyoung urged. Like he was sure. Like he knew it to be a fact.

Jaebeom thought of Youngjae sleeping peaceful in his hotel bed. The way his bangs would hang in his face. The way his eyebrows never furrowed and his breaths never wavered. His strong steadiness permeating even his sleep.

Jaebeom didn’t respond but he let Jinyoung keep holding him close.

\---

Jaebeom roused the next morning. The rumble of the highway like an inescapable white noise. The light of the early morning coming through the windows clouded in a haze of blue, painting everything like a filter. He looked down and saw Jinyoung nuzzled into his shoulder. His face reflecting all the blue light as if he wasn’t even human but something else, perfect and breathtaking. His lashes casting shadows against his cheek. The rise and fall of his chest a little too quick. And that curl of warmth wasn’t just isolated to Jaebeom’s stomach anymore but instead seeping through every part of him until he was sure that the heat coming off of him would rouse Jinyoung from his sleep.

And it didn’t feel warm and comforting, but instead it overtook everything. Like lighting the corner of a photograph and watching it burn. And Jaebeom didn’t know what it meant but all his mind was telling him was to run before it incinerated all of him.

He tried to cautiously maneuver his shoulder, sliding Jinyoung’s face away. He carefully got up, starting to dress. He pulled his jeans back on.

“Where are you going?” Jinyoung’s voice cut through, dark and deep, but clear. Like maybe he hadn’t been asleep after all.

Jaebeom looked back at him.

He was raised up on one arm, his chest bare and the sheets contouring the soft dip of his waist. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face. “We have a session we need to do.”

Jaebeom swallowed. He shook his head. “I don’t want to do a session today.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

“You’re mad,” Jinyoung said.

He stopped. Taking a deep breath. “I’m not,” he sighed. He grabbed one of his shoes, slipping it on and busying himself with the laces. “I just shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, under his breath.

“Done what?” Jinyoung huffed, sitting up. “Slept with me? Isn’t that what you were begging me to do since you met me?”

Jaebeom sighed. Knowing he was caught in some kind of trap. Knowing that Jinyoung could talk words around his inability to articulate. He looked back at him. Trying to work out a defense.

Jinyoung looked at him. That quizzical look in his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “It was more than sex, wasn’t it? You’re feeling something more?”

Jaebeom felt the fire coming up into his throat. “Stop,” he bit out.

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Stop what?”

“You’re psychoanalyzing me,” he stood up to pace.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “I’m not. There’s two of us here,” he waved between them. “Has it crossed your mind that I could feel that way too?”

“As if you can say that,” Jaebeom scoffed. “The guy who’s cheating on his spouse twice over.”

Jinyoung drew his knees up, wrapping his firm arms around them. Closing himself off. “Don’t say that. As if you understand. As if you know.”

Jaebeom seethed. “I know that you pretend to be some picture of the ideal partner but look at you. It’s all a sham. And now you want to try and tell me that there’s real feelings here? Seriously?”

“And you want to try and pretend like I couldn’t possibly be capable of that even though we’ve been feeling something there since we were back in Korea,” Jinyoung fumed. “And you want to play stupid. As if I didn’t come on this tour for that reason. As if I didn’t know exactly what I was getting myself into.”

“I don’t know why you agreed to come on this tour,” Jaebeom shook his head. “But I know it was a mistake ever inviting you.”

The silence fell between them. Tense and hot. That blue light once calm, now felt like the center of a flame. Burning too bright.

Jinyoung clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I see,” he smirked, sinister and sardonic. “You think you’re above this cause you sing on stage and have some fake name on everyone’s lips? You think you’re so brave cause you’ve got a fucking death wish and a bad attitude? You’re just like the rest of us. You’re a coward and you’re just scared of it meaning something more.”

The words seeped like poison into all the open wounds in Jaebeom, instantly festering into something that felt fatal. His face drew up. His hands to his ears. He looked back to Jinyoung’s face, his soft features soured with bitterness. He gulped. “I’m done,” he breathed. He backed away.

Jinyoung’s face turned in an instant. His eyes opening wide and his eyebrows tilting upwards. Like he didn’t expect for Jaebeom to ice him out. “Jaebeom, wait,” he reached forward. 

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. He turned away, walking himself out the door.

When Jaebeom got back to his room, any residual anger had died into something else. Something that had the edges of that hole inside of him crumbling, swallowing more and more of him.

He looked at Youngjae, just the way he left him. His bangs in his eyes. His breaths slow and steady.

He crawled up towards him, fitting his waist between his legs and crossing his arms over the boy’s chest. His fingers going up to graze the boy’s brow, pushing the hair away.

Youngjae’s eyes blinked open. He looked down. His face radiating that quiet serenity. “Morning,” a smile grew on his face. But then it faltered, weakening to nothing. His brows creased together. “What’s wrong?”

Jaebeom sighed. He put his chin to Youngjae’s chest. He buried his face into his sternum before looking back up. He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Youngjae looked at him. That whisper of concern across his features. “Okay,” he murmured, his hand going to hold the side of his face. His cool touch eliciting that instant calm. “Let’s not talk about it then.”

And they just laid there like that for a long while. Youngjae’s cool hands and calm face soothing those simmering parts of him until they were safe to handle. And he knew that there needed to be a balance between the hot and the cold, yet he had no idea what that even looked like.


	9. Los Angeles

It was too tense for comfort as they waited to board the flight to Los Angeles. Tension was still lying between Jaebeom and Mark. Jaebeom and Bambam. And most of all, Jaebeom and Jinyoung. So any sight of them had him feeling hot and uncomfortable. Overly conscious of the way their eyes would flick towards him. Trying to read him. Trying to piece him apart. Cause sometimes it felt like that’s all anyone wanted to do with him. And the anxiety of it had him clinging to Youngjae’s side.

Youngjae didn’t seem to mind. He never did. He didn’t push him away when he fell asleep on his shoulder midway through the flight. Waking to Youngjae’s phone propped up on the tray table with the front facing camera pointed to Jaebeom’s face. And he blinked back at his own image, watching the delay. He looked down into Youngjae’s lap to see his own sleepy face etched in pencil. Mouth hanging open slightly. That tension he was feeling weighted between his creased brows. Not beautiful or glamorous, but real. He looked up to Youngjae.

“Sorry,” the boy smiled. “Your grumpy face is too good to pass up.”

Jaebeom smiled at this. And somewhere he wondered what he’d do without Youngjae around. The thought stilled him. Made him think back to his talk with Mark. The one who tried to remind him of how fleeting these moments were. There were only two more stops on the tour. And then they’d all be back in Korea, where him and Youngjae lived different paths that never crossed outside of this eclipse of an opportunity. The realization filled him with such a terror that he could feel the prick of anxiety run straight down his spine and settle somewhere low in him. Burying itself into that hole inside of him.

When they got to the venue, they were immediately stuck in one of those increments of waiting that seemed to stretch on forever. Jaebeom was trying to read but his thoughts kept interrupting until the lines were blending together. He looked up to Youngjae’s patient face, flicking through his phone, and knew that he wouldn’t know peace until he addressed this. But surely the conversation didn’t bode well to fluorescent light and clinically white walls and the occasional interruption from staff.

Jaebeom took a breath. Setting his book down. “Can we take a walk?” he asked.

Youngjae looked up at him. He nodded, getting up to gather his things together. “Text Mark,” he said. “I don’t want you to get reprimanded again.”

They found their way across the street from the venue. A little strip mall with a few random shops. They found a place to eat. All green and fresh with plants lining the walls. They ordered food and sat down at a table. The light was different here. Always goldened by the desert heat and the city smog. And the way it was coming through the glass and warming Youngjae’s complexion had him wanting to put Youngjae in every kind of light just to see how he would shine.

Jaebeom looked at him. “The tour is almost over. Only Seattle and then we go home.”

Youngjae nodded.

“Are you excited to go home?” Jaebeom said, holding something in chest. The question loaded.

Youngjae sighed. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where even is home anymore?”

“What do you mean?”

The boy tried to busy his hands, spinning his straw in his drink, not able to meet Jaebeom’s eyes. “The home I had before coming here won’t be there when I get back,” he said. “So now I have to figure out where I want to go. What I want to do.”

“Any ideas?”

“Not yet,” Youngjae shook his head. “But not having a home isn’t unfamiliar to me. I’ll figure it out.”

And his answer saddened Jaebeom. For many reasons. To know that this was how Youngjae’s life had been. Flitting about from home to home. But also that unspoken connotation. That home was a place and not the feeling that they had come to foster together. That hurt a little. And it had Jaebeom cursing himself and wondering why he posed these questions if there was only one answer he would be satisfied with.

“And what about you?” Youngjae spoke.

“What about me?”

The boy shrugged. “When you’re done? Will you continue on with what you’re doing?”

“My job? I guess,” Jaebeom sighed. “It’s all I’ve ever really had.”

“Not the job,” Youngjae shook his head. “Being clean. Will you continue?”

And the thought hadn’t entered Jaebeom’s mind for a long time. Longer than he could have imagined. He guessed that he had become so occupied with other things that he hadn’t had the room to think about it. And it scared him a little to think that those things were undoubtedly Youngjae and Jinyoung. And those things would undoubtedly leave him soon.

“It’s hard to say,” Jaebeom finally said. “I’m still figuring it out.”

Youngjae reached a hand across the table, lacing their fingers together. “If you want to talk about it,” he said. “I’m here.”

 _You’re here for now._ Jaebeom thought. _But I want you here always._

“Thanks, Youngjae,” Jaebeom forced a smile.

And if Youngjae noticed how forced it was, he didn’t call it out. He just kept holding his hand.

\---

The show was a show. Routine and dull and a means to an end. To going back to the hotel and falling asleep in someone’s arms.

Jaebeom was flanked by staff as he arrived at the hotel, walking through the lobby. Feeling low and distant and still weighed by Youngjae’s words.

His eyes scanned upwards towards the elevators and met Jinyoung’s. His hands in his pockets. His glasses back on his face. But he could still see his eyes. Open. He approached him.

“Can we talk?” his voice seemed to plead. Soft and quiet as to not be heard by the onlookers.

Jaebeom looked into his eyes. Seeing how desperate he was for this. And thinking back to the hotel room and the look of regret across his handsome features when they had exchanged bitter words. He sighed, looking back to the staff. “Dr. Park will walk me up.”

And they seemed a little hesitant but continued on without him anyway.

“Can we take a drive?” Jinyoung asked, his hand going to his neck.

“How?”

“I’ll get a car,” Jinyoung shook his head. Like he’d do anything to make it happen.

Jinyoung ordered a car and they climbed in the back. They drove twenty minutes through the highways. The contrast of the black with the white and red lights of the cars felt too much like the stage and Jaebeom settled himself by looking over towards Jinyoung. Watching the way his fingers brushed together in the dark. Nervous. Unlike him.

When they got out, Jaebeom could smell it immediately. The salt. And then he could taste it. And then he could hear the crashing of the waves. They walked towards it. Trees hung over them, shadowing the bricked path until they couldn’t even see where their next steps fell. But they felt the strong winds and heard the crashing of the waves and they trusted it, following along the path that was rough with windblown sand.

When they finally cleared through the trees, the expansive beach laid out in front of them. So much brighter with the way it reflected the silver moonlight, expanding endlessly in front of both of them. Not another human in sight. The waves were wild. Thrashing and rough in the low light. Crashing deafeningly loud and stirring up a thick barrier of sea foam that drew a long line down the coast. The air wasn’t desert dry and smoggy anymore. Instead it was warm and misty and salty as it clung to Jaebeom’s lungs.

They walked down the sand, not caring about the way it got into their shoes and clung to their fabric of their pants. They took a seat where the sand was still dry, untouched by the high tide. And for a while they just sat there. Letting the violent waves crash. Their mouths quiet but minds busy. 

But after a long while, Jinyoung spoke. And it was like popping a bubble the way it cut through the silence between them and the crashing of the waves. “Anger is the cheapest emotion, don’t you think?” he asked.

Jaebeom licked his lips. Tasting the salt that had already started to make a home on his skin. “What do you mean?”

“It’s easy to rush to anger,” he shrugged. “But anger is never really just anger. It’s hurt. It’s sadness. Even sometimes love. But those are harder to feel. Anger is the easy way out of having to really face those feelings.”

Jaebeom blinked. Mist in his eyelashes. “You’re probably right.”

“I am sorry,” Jinyoung said into that mist. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you this morning.”

Jaebeom didn’t know how to take the apology. The wound still felt so fresh. And he had people criticizing him every second of his day if he went looking for it but something about it coming from Jinyoung’s pretty mouth had made it tougher to swallow. “Is it true?” he asked. “Do you find me mundane?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “I find JB mundane. A trope, a product,” he said, articulating every word. “But Jaebeom. I find Jaebeom worth all the pain JB puts him through. He’s the one I want.”

Jaebeom couldn’t speak. He wasn’t even sure if he could believe him. Cause who had ever really wanted Jaebeom for who he was. And answering his own question, Youngjae’s face materialized into his thoughts. And it was weird to him that each of them never felt isolated in his mind. They always were weaving in and out of his thoughts. Of his eyeline. As if they were interlacing harmonies of a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

“But that still begs the question,” Jinyoung asked, looking out towards the waves. “Why did you initially get angry? What didn’t you want to face?” His profile just barely glowing in the low light. The strong winds whipping his hair away from his hard eyes.

“You know,” Jaebeom said surely.

“Tell me anyway,” Jinyoung said.

And it sprung up that memory. Of Youngjae’s cool hands on his face. Telling that story of the Tiger and the Strawberry. And even in this moment of tension, the memory was enough to calm him. To let him breath in that ocean air and know it was safe to open up. Even if it was difficult. Even if he never knew which Jinyoung he was getting in return. “I’m struggling,” he choked out, looking away. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“With him. And with you,” Jaebeom sighed. “It all seemed like a joke. You’re attractive. And you’re fun. And you give me shit and you frustrate me but I like it.” He started to smile but it faltered. “But you’re also married. And too smart for me. And somewhere along the way, I didn’t want to admit it, but it got to be more than a joke.”

Jinyoung was silent. Waiting for him to continue.

Jaebeom felt that hole inside of him flowing outwards. That blackness. But it felt a little less like tar now. A little less thick and sticky and suffocating. Maybe more like ink now. Thinly pouring out, messy and quick. “It was completely independent of what was happening with Youngjae.” He thought for a moment. “Or maybe it wasn’t,” he backtracked. “Maybe it was _because of_ what was happening with Youngjae. Like he was opening up a part of me that I didn’t know could be opened. And you slipped into that space as easy as he did.” 

He felt his eyes glossing over. The words too honest and brutal but he couldn’t stop them.

“And each of you are so different. The way each of you make me feel is so different.”

“How’s that?” Jinyoung said. Voice soft.

“Youngjae,” he sighed. A lightness filling his chest. “He doesn’t see the world like I do. He’s been through dark days and he still has them. And he’s tried to give up. But he hasn’t let it define him. He’s persistently weaving himself back into the light.” He paused for a moment. Thinking some more. “Hell, maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I just want a taste of what that’s like.” He swallowed. “He’s so strong. When he looks at me, it makes me feel like I can be weak. Like he sees me for what I am and I don’t have to hide anything about myself.”

His mind pivoted. Like the ocean drawing back in on itself. “But you,” he started. Still looking out over the waves. “You challenge me. We come from drastically different walks of life. We don’t always see eye to eye and we’re both so, so stubborn. And it’s hard but we are both having to work for it and something about that feels fulfilling in a totally different way. It makes me feel powerful. Like if someone like you can see that I’m worth fighting for than maybe I am.”

Jinyoung didn’t speak still.

And it was only then that Jaebeom felt like maybe he let too much of his hand show. Like maybe he’d spilled too much and the silence was indicative of something bad. And it had him wanted to retract everything. “I don’t know,” Jaebeom sighed, scratching his brow. “Maybe I’m not into either of you. Maybe I’m don’t care as much as I thought I did. Maybe I was just desperate for another addiction and the both of you happened to be there.”

“Maybe you’re afraid,” Jinyoung finally interjected.

“What?” Jaebeom looked to him.

His face was stern. Grounded. And even in the low light, with the wind whipping his hair, his eyes glimmered from behind his glasses. “Maybe you’re afraid. Afraid that it’s true. That you could be in love with two people. Afraid of needing both of us. Afraid that that hole inside of you, the one you spoke of in our sessions, that it’s not his shape or my shape but both of us, together. And you can’t imagine a world where that’s possible.”

It hit too close to home and Jaebeom was suddenly feeling overexposed again. He felt the prick of anxiety sweep over him, making every hair stand on edge. “So, then what do I do?” he questioned, breath ragged. “Both of you have other people. And, sure, the touring is romantic but it’s not sustainable. And I don’t know what my life is going to look like after Seattle. I don’t know how I can cope without both of you in it.” His throat was coated and his eyes were blinking back the gloss.

Jinyoung looked back at him for a moment. “Come here,” he reached out, pulling Jaebeom closer. Wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into the space between his neck and shoulder. And he was warm and firm and so different from Youngjae, yes, but it filled him with the same feeling that he knew he didn’t want to go without.

They didn’t talk for a long while. Minutes upon minutes. Waves crashing over the dark sand. Jinyoung face was so warm against his neck. Shielding him from the harsh ocean breeze. Filling all the physical spaces in Jaebeom. But that hole inside of him was still so empty with worries. With doubts. Feeling like there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Jinyoung didn’t pull away when he finally spoke. “We should get you back,” he said into his skin. His soft mouth catching against the layer of salt. “Before someone notices.”

Jaebeom nodded, though his mind was distant and heavy. They untangled, walking back up that path. Their eyes better adjusted to the dark so that now each step was confident.

Jinyoung ordered them a car and Jaebeom felt like if he looked down, his whole front would be soaked shiny black with that ink he’d spilled everywhere. And he didn’t know how to not feel self-conscious about it.

The lights of the highway were passing again. Rhythmic and quick and Jaebeom’s stale eyes defocused until they were just bokeh smudges whizzing as quickly as his thoughts. He could feel Jinyoung’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look over. Too worried about what that look would hold. They were only driving for a few minutes before Jinyoung unbuckled his seatbelt, perking Jaebeom’s ears. The doctor slid over towards his side, reaching hands out towards his face and drawing their gazes together. His eyes skimming over his features. As if searching for something. And it wasn’t clear if he found it but nevertheless, he pulled them together. Finding his lips in the dark of the night and kissing him hard. 

And Jaebeom’s hands went to his thighs, feeling all the warmth as he shifted himself to be closer, to curve into him until they were two interlocking pieces. Until their hips were close and their chests were brushing. Until Jaebeom was sure that all of that black ink was staining Jinyoung too. He licked into his mouth, feeling the way his brows creased in focus. Desperate to convey all those words he’d said on the beach. His mind unable to think back to those worries he’d had only a moment ago because it was clouded with way Jinyoung’s mouth felt too good against his. Too right.

Jinyoung hands laced into his hair and he kissed Jaebeom like his mouth was a fatal wound and he was trying to stitch it up. He shifted his hands, caging him against the corner of the car. Over and over again. An unceasing onslaught. Just as rough as those waves that kicked up heaping mounds of sandy foam. And Jaebeom felt like that moonlit coastline willing to take every blow.

When the light shifted, too bright for the highway, they pulled away and looked out. Seeing themselves already outside the hotel. They disentangled once again, getting out.

Jaebeom started to walk towards the sliding doors but Jinyoung grabbed his hand, pulling him back. He stood opposite of him. His eyes serious. Brows furrowed and tight. “Jaebeom,” he thinned his lips. “Can you trust me?”

Jaebeom felt tired and unfocused. Hazed by the taste of Jinyoung’s mouth. “With what?”

“With everything,” Jinyoung nodded. “Can you trust that I’ll figure it out?”

“What does that even mean?” Jaebeom shook his head. “How could you possibly-“

“Just trust me.” His eyes were serious. He drew in a breath. “You should go back to him.” Jinyoung leaned in, as if to kiss him.

Jaebeom put a hand to his chest. “Not here,” he shook his head. “There’s probably someone watching.” 

Jinyoung pulled back. “Tomorrow, then,” he nodded. “I’ll kiss you tomorrow.”

Jaebeom’s chest filled. “Tomorrow.”

\---

By the time, Jaebeom got back up to the room, the lights were off and Youngjae was lying in bed. Seemingly asleep. Jaebeom sighed. He peeled off his sandy clothes until all that was left were his boxers and crawled up into Youngjae’s side. Desperate to feel the comfort his presence brought.

The boy stirred, eyes blinking opening. “You’re late,” he smirked, through a rough voice. He stretched an arm over his head.

“Sorry,” Jaebeom said, unable to keep from smiling back.

Youngjae leaned forward, kissing him. Nothing like that greedy ocean but calm and sweet. He pulled away. He looked up into his face. An eagerness somewhere in his bright eyes. His mouth going small and quiet.

Jaebeom smiled. “What?” 

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” he toyed with the edge of the blanket. “About home. About what I’ll do after the tour.”

“Yeah?” Jaebeom nodded. “What do you think?”

Youngjae’s eyes were a little hesitant. He licked his lips. Taking a deep breath. “If home ain’t you, I don’t want to go.”

Jaebeom felt warmth flooding in everywhere. He letting a wide smile spread across his face. And he knew he shouldn’t have been fishing for an answer, but he didn’t care anymore cause Youngjae was giving him exactly the one he wanted. He spread his arms open. “Come home then.”

And Youngjae smiled. Rolling into him. Kissing him again. Letting his hands wrap around his neck to hold them together until their bodies made a long line.

Jaebeom’s hands weaved down his sides, gripping his butt closer. He slid his tongue alongside Youngjae’s unable to piece apart the taste of Jinyoung and Youngjae, but loving it nonetheless. Jaebeom sat them up, letting Youngjae sit in his lap. 

The boy’s lips trailed down into his neck and kissed the skin roughly. Teeth reaching out to grit there. Agitating the sensitive spot until Jaebeom could feel the sensation bleeding down him and settling low his lap. Youngjae continued, starting to move his hips against him. Nothing but the flimsy fabrics of their boxers separating them.

Jaebeom hissed loud, feeling the way that warmth flooded him and how he got hard alongside Youngjae. Getting so sensitive that every movement of Youngjae’s hips was beginning to feel torturous. Having had too much, he gripped onto his hips pulling him off and nearly throwing him down onto his front.

“Take off your shirt,” Jaebeom panted.

And Youngjae didn’t hesitate before he was reaching back to pull it off. The bends of his shoulder blades glinting in the low light.

Jaebeom leaned over him, kissing his neck gently. And then his shoulder. And then a mole that sat next to his spine. Trailing downward and downward until his tongue was lapping at the riveted dimples on his lower back. He raked his hands up, gripping at the edge of his boxers and easing them down.

Youngjae arched his hips, letting them slide off.

Jaebeom threw them to the side and refocused. He landed a kiss on the back of his thigh, moving upwards. Trailing lips up his cheek while his hands gripped, greedily around both of them. He guided them apart and he could tell Youngjae was feeling his hot breath by the way he started to whine.

“What was that, baby?” Jaebeom mocked. Feeling his hot breath bouncing back off Youngjae’s skin.

Youngjae craned his head upwards for a moment. “Fucking tease,” he choked out.

And Jaebeom reached his tongue forward to graze over the rim. Smirking when Youngjae’s body shuddered through a moan. He dragged his tongue over it again. And again. Deepening the prod of his tongue each time.

Youngjae whined a symphony, hiking himself onto his forearms and pressing his forehead down into his fisted hands.

Jaebeom felt the way Youngjae opened up beneath him, spreading further. His entrance smeared with wet, hot strokes. He pulled off, placing the pad of his finger in its place and pressing a firm circle. The wetness of his saliva easing his finger in.

Youngjae’s hips shifted backwards into it, desperate for more.

Jaebeom slid another in, watching Youngjae spread himself further. He leaned down, lapping alongside where his fingers were and feeling the tight squeeze against them.

“Fuck,” Youngjae whined. “Just fuck me, hyung. Please.”

Jaebeom knew he’d done enough. He pulled out, clamoring off the bed to Youngjae’s bag. Knowing now exactly where he kept his lube. He pulled off his own underwear with haste, stepping out of it on his way back to the bed. He squeezed the lube into his hand, coating it over himself with a twist before drawing his knees back up onto the bed.

He sat himself between Youngjae’s legs, raking his nails down Youngjae’s back and feeling him shudder beneath. Legs opening up even further for him. Jaebeom lined himself up, pushing into him with a hiss. And after he was settled in, feeling the pulse of his walls, he put his hands to Youngjae’s hips and drew himself back and then forward again.

Youngjae leaned up into him, arching his back and gasping.

Jaebeom settled a rhythm. Watching how Youngjae’s hands scrambled for the sheets. The sight coaxing him and making his hips kick up into a higher tempo. Immediately feeling the way it increased the sensation, turning his movements fluid. Each stroke blending into the next like a looped track.

At some point, Youngjae reached back, pushing against his chest. “Wait,” he panted.

Jaebeom drew out for a moment.

Youngjae turned himself coming to sit in his lap again. “I wanna see you,” he whispered.

And Jaebeom smiled. He reached up, lining himself back up and letting Youngjae push down onto him.

Youngjae rocked his hips up and back down. His one of his hands going to cradle the back of Jaebeom’s neck while the other reached down to fist himself.

And feeling Youngjae’s body against his, rocking torturously, and his face so close, Jaebeom was feeling too much. And it felt too right. And the warmth started blooming outwards from his core.

And Youngjae kissed him. Heavy breaths through their nostrils. Pulling away to rest their foreheads together. “It’s okay, hyung,” he breathed, fingers sliding at the nape of his neck. “I’m here.”

And the sweet timbre of his voice was all he needed to shudder out his climax, his teeth clicking together at its strength.

And even as he was coming off, Youngjae was still rocking. Hand fisting around himself as his whines were getting higher and higher.

Jaebeom reached out, wrapping their hands together and pumping them in time until Youngjae was groaning out in finality. Dripping between them like a Jackson Pollock.

Youngjae was the first to fall onto his back, chest rising and falling but an unmistakable upturn at the corners of his mouth.

Jaebeom lay next to him. He kissed his bare shoulder, his collarbone, his neck, his ear. Watching the way his shoulder drew up at the sensation and pushed him away. He pulled back, looking at the way his wide eyes shined back in the light. He could see the breath he was holding in his chest. The way he was on the edge of words. “What are you thinking?” Jaebeom whispered, fingers reaching out to comb through his hair.

Youngjae smiled. He shook his head, slightly. “We don’t need to say it.”

Jaebeom felt his chest flutter. Everything in it confirming what he already knew. But he realized only now how badly he wanted to hear it. How dancing around it and standing on the edge of it wouldn’t do anymore. “Tell me anyway.”

Youngjae’s smile widened. He took his last moment. As if he too was relishing standing on the edge. “I love you,” he said.

And sure, he’d heard the words every day from fans since his debut. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew this was different. And he thought back to Dr. Park’s office in the mountains. 

_I mean, hell, I don’t know if it’s real but if it is, it probably wasn’t meant for someone like me anyway._

And he almost laughed. Because he was wrong. It was real. And it was for him. And Youngjae had never let him forget that.

“I love you, too,” he breathed. “So much.”

And Youngjae came closer, kissing him over and over. Giggles lacing each and every one of the kisses. 

And Jaebeom couldn’t think of a moment he’d been happier than this.

\---

Jaebeom knocked on Jinyoung’s door in the morning. When the doctor let him in, he went and sat down on the bed, leaning back onto his hands. Falling into a position they hadn’t really assumed since before things between them had grown into something more.

“How are you feeling?” Jinyoung said, taking his seat and flipping open his notepad.

Jaebeom looked at him, raising one eyebrow above the other. “Like maybe we should stop pretending these are sessions.”

Jinyoung held his gaze for a moment. He sighed, setting the notepad to the side. “Okay,” he agreed. “Fair.”

Jaebeom beckoned his head. “Come here.”

He came over. He laid himself down next to Jaebeom.

And without a thought, Jaebeom pulled him in with both arms. Cuddling them together. His head slotting between his head and his shoulder. His broad body encapsulating him.

“Are you still worried?” Jinyoung whispered and Jaebeom could feel the rumble of his voice shake his whole frame.

He lifted his head, propping it up on his elbow. Meeting his eyes with sincerity. “Of course I am.”

Jinyoung didn’t seem content with that. Like maybe he wanted to soothe all those doubts but knew he couldn’t. “What more is there left to say?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything,” he shook his head. “Is there anything you want to say?”

Jinyoung’s eyes were bare. And they didn’t glimmer in this moment. They looked pained. Hard and hurting. His cheek twitched at the corner. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaebeom whispered. Wondering what he’d said.

Jinyoung blinked. He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he choked out.

Jaebeom pressed his lips together. “Jinyoung,” he started. “I’m worried. But I meant what I said. I trust you’ll figure this out.”

At this Jinyoung only seemed to turn tighter. His eyes glossing over. He swallowed. “Let’s talk about it later,” he sniffed.

Jaebeom kept looking for the cause of his sudden uneasiness but couldn’t find it. He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Later.”

Jinyoung sniffed again. A twitch in his cheek. “Can you…” he tried to get the words out. “Can you just hold me?”

And something about it felt like a red flag but Jaebeom couldn’t read why. Even with Jinyoung’s emotions showing through stronger than ever, he was still too guarded to read. So he stopped trying. Deciding to trust. Pulling the man in closer. Tightening his grip. “Always,” Jaebeom said. “I’m here always.”


	10. Seattle

They were waiting for their flight to Seattle. And while Jaebeom was reading, he couldn’t help but notice that Youngjae was keeping his phone close. Getting buzzes of notifications every few minutes and aggressively typing back. And Jaebeom thought back to Norman Rockwell. Wondering if it was still him.

“Everything okay?” he said, once Youngjae put his phone down again.

Youngjae looked up at him. His face blank for a moment. Processing. Before nodding. “Fine,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Nothing about the words felt sure. And they were springing up immediate red flags. 

“Youngjae. What is it?” Jaebeom asked, putting a hand to his leg.

Youngjae shifted himself. Nervously unable to sit still. “It’s nothing,” he shook his head.

And Jaebeom had never seen him lie before and it made him wonder why Youngjae was refusing to open up. He thought they had left this in some city far earlier in the tour. But maybe they hadn’t.

“Hey,” Youngjae rushed to say. He reached his hand over Jaebeom’s, squeezing it. “Finish the tour. And then we can talk when you’re finished.”

Jaebeom looked into his eyes. The way they pleaded for the conversation to be dropped. And he felt all this unsettled doubt and insecurity kick up in him. 

“It’s okay,” Youngjae assured.

And it didn’t settle him the way he wanted it to, but it was all he had. So, he just squeezed back and continued reading, trying to make the words not all run together.

\---

After Youngjae took his leave from the venue, Jaebeom couldn’t stop thinking about the worry in his face. It had his brows drawing close together and his shoulders sunk and his head busy as he got ready for the show. He had his hair and his makeup done and was going to change into his stage clothes. But with too many people around and no privacy, he walked his way to the bathroom down the hall.

He was pulling his silk shirt over his head when he felt warm hands sneaking underneath the fabric as it fell. And he looked up and saw Jinyoung staring back in the mirror. A shadow over his shoulder. And he realized that he’d been in his own thoughts too much to even hear the door open.

“What are you doing here?” Jaebeom looked up at him in the reflection. Feeling the warmth of his hands permeating through his skin.

“I just wanted to be around you,” Jinyoung shrugged.

“Why?”

Jinyoung kissed his shoulder through the thin fabric of the shirt. “Do I need a reason?”

And maybe if Jaebeom hadn’t already been bothered by Youngjae’s anxiousness, he would have passed it off. But he was on edge. And the self-doubt was louder than anything else. He sighed. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you,” he shook his head.

Jinyoung looked back at him. His face falling. “Why what is so hard?”

“Saying you like me,” Jaebeom shrugged. “You never say it. I spill all these dark parts of myself and I know you listen and that’s great. And you throw me up against surfaces and fuck me and that’s great too. But you never tell me.”

“Are you complaining?” Jinyoung returned his lips to his neck, talking into the skin. “Should I stop fucking you?”

Jaebeom stopped. Watching Jinyoung’s eyes meet his again. Giving him a serious look. “I just want to know. I’m not asking for flattery,” he sighed. “I’m just asking for some validation.”

Jinyoung processed his words. “Then I like you,” he said simply. Little feeling in it.

Jaebeom scoffed. The doctor’s words coming off insincere. “Why? Why do you like me?”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung warned. Getting annoyed.

Jaebeom shrugged away his touch. He turned, facing him. His eyes wide and intent. “Tell me,” he demanded. “God. I don’t get it. Why can’t you tell me?”

Jinyoung looked back at him. As if realizing how serious he was. He stood his ground. Taking a deep breath and letting it out. “There’s something in you,” he started. His hands nervously coming together. “And I could see it from the first day I met you. All those walls of selfishness and pride and self-deprecation. It was covering all that hurt from your past. It was shielding you from anyone breaking through again. And it made me wanna pull you apart and figure out what’s underneath.”

Jaebeom felt a bit nervous. His anxious mind rushing to the worst conclusion. “Is that all I am?” he narrowed his eyes. “A game? Something to break open and find the prize?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “Of course not,” he urged. “If so, I would have thrown you aside after you told me about your trainee days or your family or your old manager. But I didn’t, did I?”

Jaebeom looked back with untrusting eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

Jinyoung took another breath. Looking into his eyes. “Because what was inside was more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

Jaebeom felt the curl of warmth making a home in him again. Seeing the way the harsh bathroom light caught that glimmering warm brown. 

“You don’t see it,” Jinyoung’s lips tugged ever so slightly upward. “You’re just this mix of soft and hard. You try and act like a spoiled idol, but you care about every person too much. You hate the shows, but you work hard and see them through. You act like nothing can touch you, but you don’t think you’re special. You tease and you mock, but even you must know that there’s sweetness in everything you do. You know how to make strangers fall in love with you, but you can’t see what’s loveable in yourself.” 

Jaebeom felt the words roll over him, dark and sweet and unlike anything Jinyoung had said to him before. And he struggled to commit them to memory. Yearning to hear them every day.

Jinyoung smiled now. He licked his lips. “And you love Youngjae even if it scares you to admit it.”

Jaebeom shook his head. “It doesn’t scare me anymore.”

“Good,” Jinyoung said. “It doesn’t scare me either.”

And Jaebeom cocked his head a touch, wondering what he’s referencing.

Jinyoung took a breath. “You want me to say it.”

Jaebeom perked. “Say what?”

“That I love you.” 

Jaebeom felt the curl of warmth in his middle. Crashing over him and decimating his ability to think straight. Because he really hadn’t been expecting it.

“I didn’t… that wasn’t the intention.”

And Jinyoung looked at his blank face. His lips curling into a wide smile. He laughed. “That’s just… that’s not me. I don’t say it like that.”

“Not even to your spouse?” Jaebeom quirked a brow upward.

He scoffed. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“He said it first.”

Jaebeom shouldn’t have tracked the pronoun so closely but he did, and the pulse of new information made his head spin. He tried to cut through it. “Well, what if I say it first?”

Jinyoung smiled, his tongue pressing into his cheek for a moment. “Try it.”

Jaebeom felt the flutter of his stomach. And he looked into the man’s face and saw that straight-laced therapist who was nothing like what he seemed to be at the start. He brought a hand to his neck, feeling the warm skin. “Jinyoung,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Jinyoung looked back at him. Like he was processing it. “Yeah no,” he shook his head. “I can’t say it.”

Jaebeom’s face broke out in a wide smile. “No, come on,” he chuckled out. “You made me say it. Now you have to say it too.”

“Or what?” Jinyoung smirked.

Jaebeom’s hands went for his shoulders, shoving him backwards. He dragged his body up against the back of the bathroom door. Diving in to kiss him. A mix of tongues and teeth and hot breaths. And it felt nearly like laughing, the air between them. But as they kept going, it grew to be more like something harsh. Less like a joke, more like a battle.

Jaebeom moved a hand down to Jinyoung’s hip, pulling off only to lock the door before guiding between the doctor’s legs and rubbing against him.

Jinyoung hummed into his mouth, rocking his hips towards his hand.

And Jaebeom smirked, satisfied at the control he was waging. He pulled off, dropping down to his knees. He made quick work of the buttons on Jinyoung’s jeans, reaching in and pulling him out with a firm hand. And he looked up as he reached his tongue out, barely lapping at the tip. Making a show of it.

Jinyoung watched with heavy eyes, hypnotized. His hands going down to Jaebeom’s shoulders before working their way up his neck and through his hair.

Jaebeom took him in, sliding fully down his length and holding himself there before pulling off.

“Don’t stop,” Jinyoung whimpered, fingers shifting through his hair and disheveling it from how the stylists had set it.

Jaebeom smiled, returning his mouth around him and bobbing lowly. Twisting his wrist in rhythm. Tasting the way he leaked against his tongue. Easing the pace faster with every twist. Feeling how Jinyoung began to buckle. How the fingers in his hair became more insistent, pushing and tugging.

And when he could hear the shake of his breaths and feel the shake of his thighs, he knew he was getting close. He pulled off with a pop, standing back up and caging Jinyoung in with his forearms and drawing their faces close. A smirk growing across his face. “Say it,” he purred.

And Jinyoung looked back at him, incredulously. He shook his head. “Not so fast.” Jinyoung’s hands went to his chest and he shoved him back. Taking tandem steps forward and turning his body away to push him up against counter, hips kicking up underneath him. Hardness rutting into the fabric of his pants. “Fuck,” Jinyoung breathed out. “You fucking tease.”

And his hips didn’t stop rutting as his hands came around to Jaebeom’s front, fumbling with the clasp on the waistband of his pants. And then he was pulling Jaebeom’s pants down his legs and securing one hand around him to fist him.

Jaebeom cried out. He looked up to see Jinyoung staring at him in the mirror, eyes dark and mouth hanging open.

But Jaebeom wouldn’t let himself surrender so easily, grinding his hips up against Jinyoung. Craning his neck up and leaning back into his firm chest. A hand reaching back to hold Jinyoung at the nape of his neck. Tugging at the short, neat hairs there.

And Jinyoung whimpered, hand just picking up intensity and hips rutting again, the wet slick of himself against Jaebeom’s bare skin. 

They kept this up, Jaebeom feeling the flowering of warmth spreading under his skin. Sweat collecting at his hairline and down his neck as it radiated from him. Feeling the twist of Jinyoung’s hand, fast and close. And then he felt Jinyoung’s fingers crawling up his neck and chin before plunging themselves into his mouth. 

Jaebeom closed around them, licking them as eagerly as he’d licked at other parts of Jinyoung and humming around them.

Jinyoung withdrew them before reaching back around and resting them firmly against his entrance.

And the combination of sensations made him groan, resting his hands against the edge of the counter and leaning into it, arching his hips back.

Jinyoung worked the fingers into him one at a time, scissoring them when they met. Pressing into the throbbing just to heighten it. After a while, he withdrew them. 

And Jaebeom glanced through his lashes and saw the way Jinyoung spit into his hand and ran it over his length. The sight had Jaebeom pushing his hips backwards with added fervor, wordlessly asking for it.

Jinyoung drew his hips close, sliding into him. His hand returning to the front to pump him.

Jaebeom could feel the way the counter pressed against him but the way the pleasure was mixing with the pain had him feeling like all his wires were crossed. He maneuvered his hips against Jinyoung’s and then back towards his hand, trying to release the pressure between the two sources.

And there was barely a rhythm before Jaebeom felt the warmth unraveling him and making his knees go weak. But he was determined to stand his ground. Determined to get what he wanted.

He leaned back against his chest, reaching up again. Tugging again at the hair at Jinyoung’s nape and hearing his breath shudder out of him. He leaned his mouth into Jinyoung’s ear. “Say it,” he hissed.

“Fuck,” Jinyoung groaned. “I love you. Oh shit. I love you.” 

And the heavy words in Jaebeom’s ears made him feel lighter. So light that he couldn’t hold back anymore. His eyes forced shut and muscles tensed. He groaned loudly, emptying himself into the sink.

And he could feel the way Jinyoung’s hips were getting sloppy and slow, punctuating each one with a hot breath in Jaebeom’s ear. 

So Jaebeom leaned forward onto the counter, arching his back and letting Jinyoung get as deep as possible. Looking up in the mirror and meeting his eyes. He smiled and watched as Jinyoung’s eyes glossed over, his pretty mouth falling open and his moan stuttering. Falling apart into his climax, before slumping against Jaebeom’s back.

A few minutes later, they had both cleaned up and buttoned themselves back together.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung said. He didn’t look up from where his hands were nervously wringing together.

“Don’t tell me you wanna take it back,” Jaebeom huffed. 

“Of course not,” he didn’t laugh. He licked his lips. “Listen. Can we talk tomorrow?”

Jaebeom smiled at him. “Jinyoung, we talk every day.”

“I know,” he winced, eyes crinkling at the corners. Pained. “But I just really want to talk to you about something tomorrow, okay?”

And Jaebeom looked at him. Thinking back to Youngjae’s worried face. And it was setting off more alarms for him. Something didn’t feel right. But he knew the staff would be looking for him to start the final show. He knew now wasn’t the time. “Okay,” he nodded. Coming forward and drawing his face close to kiss him. Craving that validation that everything was okay. “Tomorrow.”

\---

It was the last show. Jaebeom was pulling off his damp stage clothes afterwards. High on the adrenaline that seemed kicked up a notch with the finality of it. With the fact that he wouldn’t need to do this for a long while.

A hand came down on his bare shoulder. He looked back, seeing Jackson. Dosed in sweat and unchanged.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you?”

Jaebeom groaned. “Can it wait? We are all just trying to get out of here.”

“It can’t wait,” he shook his head. “I have something you need to see.”

“Jacks,” Jaebeom sighed. “Come on. I don’t have tim-“

“You’re gonna want to see it.” His round eyes were deathly serious. Something that Jaebeom had never seen on him before.

That sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t right was rearing back into Jaebeom’s mind. “What is it?”

Jackson grabbed his arm, dragging him firmly from the busy room. He took him down the hall, searching for a place they could talk. Have some semblance of privacy. They happened upon an empty locker room for some sports team. Rows upon rows of metal lockers. Benches stretched long, the length of the room. And it was quiet. Only a few emergency lights on overhead. 

“Alright,” Jaebeom sat down wide on one of the benches. His expression somewhere between bored and bothered. “Make it quick.”

Jackson started to pace. “It’s about Youngjae and Dr. Park.”

“Not this again,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes.

“I knew that something was off about either of them,” he continued. His voice echoing off all the metal and space. “So I started searching to see what I could find.”

“You what?” Jaebeom’s face drew up in disgust. The idea of Jackson snooping through their lives only made him mad. And he wondered when he’d become so fiercely protective over them. 

Jackson didn’t seem to listen. He just kept barreling through. Like maybe he’d practiced these words beforehand. “The doctor’s search didn’t yield anything,” he shook his head. “His professional references. Some things about his doctorate. Nothing of merit. Nothing that could tell me anything.”

Jaebeom stared with narrow eyes. Wishing he could stop Jackson from whatever he was trying to say but knowing that is was futile. The man wasn’t keen on stopping for anything. 

“And then I searched that art brat. At first, there was nothing. Just some information from his school about him. His social media yielded nothing interesting.” Jackson held his breath for a moment. “But then I found an article. He’s from Mokpo, right?”

“So what?”

Jackson huffed, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through it. “So,” he raised a brow. “The local paper there did a story on him. Local success. Maybe the bar is really that low there. And they talked about his first gallery show in Seoul.”

“I don’t see your point,” Jaebeom sighed. He started to stand. “If this witch hunt of yours is over then-“

“Sit down,” Jackson commanded. No formalities in his voice. He swallowed. “Just sit down and look at this.”

Jaebeom sat. Looking up at him.

Jackson passed him the phone. 

Jaebeom took it in his palm, looking down at the article. He saw Youngjae photographed in front of a large wall of his works. His bright smiling face. The gallery large and white and crisp around him.

“Yup,” Jaebeom jeered. Going to hand the phone back. “That’s him.”

Jackson scoffed. “Look closer.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. He looked again. Studying the boy’s face. Knowing exactly how many kisses fit between his smiling eyes. 

His stare went to the works behind him. Paintings. People. An older woman and her fluffy white lap dog. A pair of twin girls. Missing front teeth and pink hair clips in their bangs. But then he saw it.

The oil painting right behind his left shoulder. It was big. At least four feet across and maybe three feet tall. At first glance, a smattering of pinks and nudes against a blue background. Brushstrokes melded together to show the different shades of skin. The way the shades got darker around crevices. Near underarms and the contours of a soft waist. And lighter in other parts. Parts that shone in the light. Upon the chest, the cheekbones, above soft pink lips. And Jaebeom could practically feel their softness. Too familiar. And then it clicked.

And Jaebeom’s gaze pulled back slightly. Realizing that he was staring at a painting of Jinyoung. Sitting in bed. Arms wrapped around his knees. Chest and face bare in morning light as he looked away.

And Jaebeom wanted to drop the phone like it was too hot to handle but he himself was frozen. A tremble ripping through his chest and down his limbs. Unable to piece it apart.

“How?” he whispered to no one in particular.

“I don’t know,” Jackson began to answer. “But it’s obvious they know each other. Even though they’ve been playing like they don’t. My guess is-“

“Save it,” Jaebeom stopped him, handing back the phone. He felt the crawl of his skin. The itch of anxiety that made him want to tear himself apart. “I don’t…” he almost covered his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.” He felt flashes of anger patching his skin. Heating that frozenness to something combustible.

“But hyung,” Jackson protested. “They lied. They deceived-“

“Shut up!” Jaebeom shouted. Volatile pressure that couldn’t be contained. He felt the rise and fall of his chest. “Leave me.”

Jackson looked back, visibly shaken. He licked his lips. Like he might just say something else until he didn’t. He turned back towards the door.

“Jackson,” Jaebeom called.

The man turned, looking back with distant eyes. Like his mind was already elsewhere.

Jaebeom took a breath. Nothing calm in it. “Send me that link,” he muttered. 

\---

He sat alone in that darkened locker room for longer than he should have. The anger crawling up his spine. Heating him just to chill him again. And he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he needed. But he knew that all he had were questions. And he was desperate for answers. He found the arena’s exit. Walking himself around the space surrounding the venue. A city center of museums and attractions. Normally flooded with tourists, the space was desolate at this late hour. The lone buskers packing up. The glow of the museum lights illuminating his path. The Space Needle hovering over his head like an omnipotent god. Feeling its judgement with every step. 

The hotel was only a few blocks away. And Jaebeom knew he needed the crisp summer air to cleanse his burning lungs. To clear his head. But it didn’t. Because as soon as he was moving, it meant time was passing. And he was living. In a world he no longer knew how to navigate with the information Jackson had given him.

By the time he was walking up to the hotel, he’d managed to break from his thoughts long enough to type out a text to Mark.

_Send Dr. Park to my room. Tell him it’s an emergency._

He hesitated momentarily. Visualizing the image of that doctor’s perfect face in his mind as clear as day. Feeling only hours ago the way they’d had their hands on each other. Jinyoung saying those dark, sweet things that no one had ever said. Getting farther than they ever had in terms of being able to break down their emotional barriers and allow themselves to be vulnerable. And surely, it had been real, right?

He felt that heat patch him again. Welling up like those violent waves. Stirring up that foam that wouldn’t dissipate. He hit send.

When Jaebeom entered his room, he saw Youngjae laying in bed. And the sight that usually filled him with a sense of home had his stomach churning. Wondering how a face so sweet could be withholding such a secret from him.

Youngjae sat up. Those smiling eyes. Holding all that wonder. All those emotions that Jaebeom had come to realize love felt like. Because he was in love, right? Despite everything? “Don’t just stand there,” the boy urged. “Come kiss me.”

And Jaebeom felt sick.

Youngjae’s smile fell. He started getting up. “Jaebeom. What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

And just like that, they heard a knock at the door. 

Youngjae’s face went tense.

Jaebeom backed towards the door. Finding it hard to look away from Youngjae. But when he did, he opened the door, seeing Jinyoung standing in the hallway. His eyes hesitant and bare.

“Mark said you wanted to see me?” he asked. A visible gulp in his throat.

Jaebeom felt a rush. Not knowing how this was going to play out but knowing there was no going back. He reached out, grabbing Jinyoung’s arm forcefully and pulling him into the room. He felt the way Jinyoung tried to pull away but Jaebeom’s grip was too insistent, fueled by his spiraling thoughts. He dragged him. He shoved him toward Youngjae, standing before them. He looked between them. And never had they been like this. Together. Just the three of them occupying the same, private space. And something about it left him feeling vulnerable and over-exposed. Knowing that they knew too many of his secrets and he didn’t know enough of theirs.

The heat came back. Patching his skin again until he was sure they could see it. He felt a breath ripping through him. The doubts quieting as the anger came roaring back in its place. “Tell me what’s going on,” he breathed. Feeling the taste of fury rise in his throat. “Right now.”

They didn’t look to each other. They kept their eyes on him. 

He looked to Youngjae. His eyes were blinking. Growing glossy immediately. Like he knew. He sighed exasperated. Shoulders sinking. Hands flitting between his sleeves. Nervous. Not far from how he’d been that morning. But dialed up now. Realizing that he’d been caught in whatever lie he had been pushing. 

Jaebeom looked to Jinyoung. And like always, it was polar opposite. His expression was cold and hard. That gulp in his throat still sitting there. Like maybe he was surprised. Maybe he hadn’t anticipated this. But above all else, he looked guilty.

Jaebeom couldn’t take their eyes on him. Their silence. His hand dove into his pocket. He pulled his phone out, swiping it open with shaky, hasty fingers. The article stared back at him. Youngjae with the painting of Jinyoung. His stomach dropped as he looked at it a second time, realizing again that it hadn’t just been a trick of the light. It had been real. And required explanation. He shoved it towards them.

They both looked at it. Eyebrows furrowing. But Jinyoung was the one to reach out and accept it. His fingers brushing Jaebeom’s. Feeling hot to the touch. Making Jaebeom’s chest only feel heavier. He shook it off. Pushing forward.

“I know,” Jaebeom bit out, hearing the wetness of his voice. “I know you two know each other.”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung spoke, voice soft. “Please.” He tried to take a step towards him.

“No,” Jaebeom stepped back in tandem, pointing a finger towards him. He shook his head. “Tell me right now.”

Jinyoung sighed. He handed Jaebeom his phone back. 

Jaebeom took it, making sure their fingers didn’t brush this time. Sliding it back into his pocket with a trembling hand.

The two still didn’t look at each other. Their faces tight in different ways still. Jinyoung reached his hand to the side, wrapping it around Youngjae’s and intertwining their fingers. 

Jaebeom eyes stared down at it. Wide and unable to look away.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung said. His voice shaky. “This is my husband, Youngjae.”

Jaebeom felt lightheaded. He looked up to his face. “Your what?” he hissed.

They didn’t respond. They just kept looking back at him.

Jaebeom’s eyes shifted over. “Youngjae,” he breathed.

Youngjae licked his lips. Still nervous. “It’s true,” he nodded. 

Jaebeom’s head swam. Not capable of computing what it all meant. “This is who you’ve been sleeping with?” he looked to Jinyoung.

Jinyoung nodded.

“And this Norman Rockwell?”

Youngjae nodded.

He turned to Jinyoung. “But you knew. You knew how I felt for him. And you encouraged me.”

“Cause I knew he felt the same way about you,” Jinyoung nodded. “We both did.”

“Youngjae,” Jaebeom looked to him. Seeing how quiet he was being. “Say something.”

Youngjae gnawed his lip. His eyes round. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he shook his head. “We were going to tell you tomorrow,” he urged. “We were just waiting for the right time.”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “You’re fucking with me.” He huffed out a laugh. “This doesn’t make sense. Who put you up to this?”

Jinyoung tugged Youngjae’s hand until he turned his face. Their eyes locked. “He’s not going to believe us until he sees it,” Jinyoung said.

A moment stretched between them. Communicating with just their eyes. 

Every breath Jaebeom took burned.

And then Youngjae sighed. Hesitant, but licking his lips. Nodding. His other hand came up, moving to hold Jinyoung’s cheek. Thumb brushing his high cheekbone. And they leaned into each other, their lips meeting in the middle.

Jaebeom’s knees shook. Like he might just pass out. But he couldn’t look away.

Couldn’t look away from the way the tans of their skin contrasted. Youngjae’s cool against Jinyoung’s warm. Couldn’t look away from the sureness of it. The way in which there wasn’t any awkwardness. No uncoordinated who cranes which way. No brushing noses. It was synchronized and routine and practiced. And the way Jinyoung’s hand so easily slotted around Youngjae’s hip like it knew exactly the angle of its curve.

It was real. 

And suddenly. It was Jaebeom. Jaebeom was the unreal one between them. He was the one who naively took their attention for affection. Their deception for love. But it had never been real. Not real like this. And how stupid had he been to ever think that he could be the center between these two people. Because they hadn’t been the ones who could finally fill that hole inside of him. Because they were already filling those holes in each other. And there wasn’t ever supposed to be room for him. He was never supposed to be there. Just like he wasn’t supposed to be here now.

He turned away, going for the door. And distantly, he heard the chirp of their lips pulling apart. The calling of his name. Unable to piece apart whose throat it was coming from. And he just kept going, barreling himself out of a space that was never his to begin with.

\---

Jaebeom was walking, to where he didn’t know. He just had the overwhelming need to keep moving. Farther away from them. As far as his feet would take him. He watched the looming Space Needle come and go along with the bright lights of the center that he had his concert at only hours before. Back before he knew what he couldn’t unknow.

He reached the end of a long block and saw warm bright neon lights calling towards him. Glowing red in an electric font. He couldn’t make out all the words, but he knew the word ‘bar’ and made him feel warm at the thought of something familiar.

He walked inside, sitting down on a stool at the bar. A bartender in front of him mixing a drink together. Jaebeom watched her prepare it. Mixing different liquids. Colors blending together. Ice crackling as it fractured against the glass. And Jaebeom could feel his brain buzzing against his skull. The image of Youngjae and Jinyoung’s mouths against each other. And goddamn, he was just so desperate for a distraction. For anything other than that. 

“What are you drinking?” the bartender said. A woman with brightly colored hair and a metal tee.

“Anything,” Jaebeom responded in English.

“Alright,” the bartender laughed. “My kind of man.”

She prepared him something. A short glass. Brown and chilled. Straightforward. No garnish. No gimmicks. Strictly function.

Jaebeom reached out, bringing the glass close to his face. He could smell the alcohol. It made his head spin. Transported him back to that time before Jinyoung and Youngjae. When things had been easy. When he had everything figured out and no one getting deep enough inside of him to hurt him. He wanted that Jaebeom back. The impenetrable super star. The careless, arrogant celebrity. Because that role was so much easier than the one he’d been trying to fill for Jinyoung and Youngjae. Not knowing that they’d already found that role in each other.

He took a sip. And then another. And he couldn’t place what the bartender had given him, but he knew it was strong and that was all that really mattered. He drained the glass, letting it thump against the bar on its way down.

“How was it?” the bartender asked, leaning against her forearms on the polished wood of the bar.

“I want more,” Jaebeom choked out after swallowing. 

“Yes, sir,” the woman smiled and went to prepare another.

And Jaebeom sat like this. Downing the drinks and watching a new glass reappear. Looking around at the patrons and feeling out the company. The rowdy crowds who grouped together. The loners who sat with high shoulders. The spirits of the room unravelling as the time passed. And it made Jaebeom think about how easily he’d unraveled in Jinyoung and Youngjae’s hands. How hard he’d worked to cultivate his hard exterior, yet how effortlessly they were able to slip around it. It made him mad. Made him wonder what had been in it for them. Was it all just a game? Was it for the story? Because he was some famous star and they just wanted to see who could get deeper? Did they talk about him behind his back? Laugh about how stereotypical he was with his family issues and his drug use and his death wish. All those things Jinyoung had called him out on before. Was it all a joke? And these thoughts kept piling up. Always assuming the worst. And it made the image of their faces go red in his mind. Until he couldn’t see past the rage that was welling up. And it must have been somewhere between drink four and drink five when he took out his phone and dialed Mark’s number.

It rang too many times, before a click of a pick-up came through the receiver. “Jaebeom?” Mark’s sleepy voice questioned, a bit hard to hear over the roar of the bar.

“I want them gone,” Jaebeom slurred.

“What?” Mark groaned, hearing the shifting of his sheets. “What are you talking about?”

“Jinyoung and Youngjae,” Jaebeom seethed. “Get them out. I don’t wanna see them.”

Mark was quiet for a moment. “What happened, Jaebeom?”

“I…” Jaebeom stuttered. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?” Mark pleaded. “What’s all that noise? Where are you?”

Jaebeom grimaced. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back in the morning. But I want them out by then. I don’t want to ever see them again,” he spat. “Ever.” He hung up the call. He took another sip.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

He spun seeing a boy, maybe mid-twenties. Tattoos up and down his arms and lines drawn into the short hair on his head. “I’m sorry to ask. But my friend was wondering if you were JB? The singer?”

And just like that, the place lost its magical ability. No longer was he sheltered in anonymity, just another human trying to find distractions in the wrong place. No, now he was something else. Not who he really was, not who he’d let Youngjae and Jinyoung see, no. But not quite what he was before either. He smiled tightly. “No,” he said through his accent. “I’m not JB. Sorry.”

And the boy’s face dropped a little. Shifting to something a little closer to disgust. He turned away, walking back towards his group.

Jaebeom shifted back towards the bar. “Hey,” he called for the bartender. “I’m done.”

Jaebeom closed out his tab. He got back on the street, spinning himself in a circle and stopping, walking in the direction he happened on. It was down a hill and even though it was dark, he could see the ocean when he looked up. Reflecting black and white in the moonlight. He kept following.

He must have been walking for ten minutes when he happened upon a park. Expansive hills overlooking the water. And upon the grass, towering over him, huge sculptures surrounded him. Nothing in particular. Just contemporary, fluid shapes in bright colors and metals.

He wasn’t alone in the park. No. It was bursting with life. Groups of huddled vagrants guarded shopping carts full of personal items camped out amongst the sculptures. And it was a strange juxtaposition of social classes. The perfectly groomed grass and the modern art alongside the grit of the city’s homeless. And Jaebeom thought back to that morning when Jinyoung said he was a mix of soft and hard and wondered if that was what he had meant.

He found a spot, a cement ledge that surrounded one of the lawns. And from it, he could look out towards that black water. He wrapped his arms around his knees, looking farther out and seeing the land on the other side. Realizing too late that this wasn’t an ocean. Not the same one that Jinyoung had held him at. No, this was something different. Something contained. And he wasn’t quite sure why the realization was hitting him so hard.

His eyes focused in and out, blurring the picture of that water. He hadn’t been this drunk since Tokyo and it wasn’t the same feeling he remembered. He always remembered it as a pleasant blend of soft and heavy. The lightheadedness mingling with the slowed reflexes. Brain faster than body. A shaky, spinning top. But now all he felt was heavy. Heavy mind that kept weighing him down with thoughts and images and sensations. The same ones he’d been trying to drown out. Heavy heart that yearned to be back in the sanctuary that prior cities had held. Safe and ignorant and loved. Heavy body that just wanted to lay down. 

So he did, letting his body curl up against the concrete. Rolling onto his back and looking up at the black of the sky. It felt close enough to touch. And so he tried, reaching out his hand. But as he twirled his wrist, expecting it to wrinkle like velvet, it didn’t. And he realized it wasn’t velvet at all but black tar like that hole inside of him that ached now more than ever. Thinking of how he had let it spill out for Youngjae and Jinyoung to see and all he had to show for it was the inevitable shame that always seemed to follow.

And so he lay like that, closing his eyes and forcing deep breaths and whispering a promise to himself. That he’d never end up getting hurt again. That the next time he tried to let anyone in, he’d end himself first. And he’d never fall prey to that fantasy, that someone (or someones) could possibly fill that hole, again. And he repeated this promise like a prayer until his lips couldn’t move anymore.

\---

The sunrise was imminent as Jaebeom stumbled through the front doors of the hotel. The summer of the far north bringing short nights that gave way to long days. The sky was that blue grey that held the promise of a new day. Of new possibilities. But Jaebeom couldn’t see any of that in it. He just saw the overcast that was clouding his brain. Hazing everything with a numbness that wasn’t comfortable yet still distinctly familiar.

When he unlocked the door to his hotel room, he wasn’t sure what he’d find. But there, on the floor was one bag. His bag. The only thing remaining. And in his drunkenness, he couldn’t help but think it looked incredibly lonely without Youngjae’s next to it. 

He looked to the bed. The sheets still messy from where Youngjae had been lying in them. Rippling around like maybe if he tried hard enough, he could find Youngjae’s cool outline in them.

And the sight, the way the light was filtering in. Reminding him of that morning in New York where the sun had warmed between his shoulder blades as Youngjae gritted him with charcoal. Or the morning in Dallas where the blue light and the hum of the highway threatened to drown out Jinyoung and his harsh words. And the thought crept in somewhere that he’d made a mistake. Letting them go. Exiling them without a second thought. Because when he kept thinking back to Youngjae’s kindness or Jinyoung’s firmness, he couldn’t help but ache. But what else could he have done?

He fell to his knees. The tears he’d been holding back making their way out and down his cheeks. Salty like the ocean breeze that Jinyoung shielded him from. Cool like the touch of Youngjae’s hands. Sobs shaking through him as if rattling his ribs together. All the silence that he held breaking down to nothing but noise. Violent and crashing noise that couldn’t be tampered. The way that hole poured black tar all over the carpet. And he couldn’t keep it in any longer, so he just let it out. And didn’t stop. It just kept going and going, flowing out of him. Until his lungs wore down and his breaths got shallower and the power in him quelled to nothing. He lay there, still seeping but now just in silence. The tar turning solid and keeping him there, glued to that floor.

He didn’t know how long he was there. Long enough to watch that blue light turn to white and then pale yellow as it moved in shapes against the carpet. And then there was the sound of a card at the door, beeping and unlocking with a twist.

He felt hands around him, pulling him up to sitting. Reaching out for his face. Pulling it up. And he had to blink away his residual tears until the image cleared and he saw Mark’s worried face staring back.

“Hyung,” he smiled, though it hurt. “Hyung. You’re here.”

Mark’s mouth was small and his brows were furrowed. “What happened, Jaebeom?”

“Didn’t you know?” Jaebeom choked out. Almost a sick laugh.

“Know what?”

Jaebeom smiled wide. His hazy brain nearly rattling with loose screws. “They were married. The whole time,” he whispered. Sharp like a blade.

Mark was silent for a long while. Or hell, how would Jaebeom have known how long it was. He just knew that he was getting overly focused on the blacks of Mark’s eyes that seemed to be wider than he’d ever seen them.

“I didn’t know,” his manager said, honestly. “But it adds up.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dr. Park was the one to recommend Youngjae. Said he was a previous patient.”

Jaebeom licked his lips. He thought he might start crying again but he didn’t. He just nodded. Realizing he hadn’t been Jinyoung’s first victim. That he hadn’t been as special as the doctor had said. 

Mark put a hand through Jaebeom’s hair. Pushing it off his face. “I tried to warn you,” he whispered. His high cheekbones pulling upwards in unease, half-mooning his eyes. “This is what I didn’t want to happen,” he said. “I didn’t want you to put everything into them. I knew this would happen.”

Jaebeom smiled. He reached up and touched Mark’s face. “You were right, hyung. You’re always right, hyung,” Jaebeom slurred. “It’s me who’s wrong. I’m so tired of being wrong.”

Mark looked at him. His face busy and bothered and somewhere else. But he seemed to pull himself back, sighing. “Let’s get you in bed. I’ll pack up for you and give you a little more time before we need to leave.” 

“It’s just like old times, isn’t it?” Jaebeom laughed. “Weren’t those the good ole days?”

“No,” Mark shook his head. “They were not.” 

Mark curled his arms around Jaebeom’s middle. Pulling him up to his feet with surprising strength. He threw an arm around him, walking him over to the bed and laying him down. “Get a little rest, okay?” he pulled the covers around him. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

\---

Mark had lied. Jaebeom awoke a few hours later with a throbbing headache and a sour stomach and thoughts flooding his head again. As soon as Jaebeom and the staff got through security at the airport and found their gate, Jaebeom made an excuse that he was going to the bathroom. He left his things with the staff and he walked down the terminal, keeping his head low. He found the nearest restaurant, walking in and pulling up a stool at the bar. 

“Double vodka soda,” Jaebeom ordered in his best English.

The bartender nodded and started preparing the drink.

And Jaebeom felt the calm set over him, knowing that a haze of some variety was imminent. That he wouldn’t need to feel so alone anymore. That their faces could go back to being ghosts that he could phase through unlike the opaque memories that were haunting his too sober head.

He managed to down the first drink. Gritting through his teeth at the sting of the carbonation on his scratchy throat. Ignoring the way it made his eyes water. And the feeling alone had him wanting to give in and start crying all over again, but he held back. Setting the glass down too hard causing the bartender to snap her head back towards him.

“One more,” he told her, before feeling a hand on his shoulder. He turned towards it, feeling the slight delay of his reflexes either still present or catching hold. Not able to confirm if he was still a little drunk or becoming a little tipsy.

“Jaebeom,” Mark said, squeezing his shoulder hard. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” Jaebeom scoffed, shrugging out of his grip. “I’m getting drunk.”

“No, you’re not,” Mark sighed, exasperated. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He tried to turn away, beckoning Jaebeom to follow.

Jaebeom didn’t move from his seat. “I’m good here, thanks,” he tightly grinned.

Mark looked down at him. Realizing how serious he was. “You don’t have to do this,” Mark shook his head. “I’m here for you.”

Jaebeom turned away, licking his lips. Not wanting to hear Mark’s words of support. He watched as the bartender made the drink, exaggerating the pour of the vodka in one long movement. “I don’t want you,” Jaebeom murmured. 

_I want them._

But he held it somewhere behind his tongue where no one could get it.

“I’m not gonna watch you do this,” Mark said, firmly.

“You are,” Jaebeom felt himself getting heated. He cast narrowed eyes towards him. “Or I’m gonna start shouting and don’t think for a minute that those fansites watching from over there will hesitate to start recording.” Jaebeom pointed over to the small grouping that were watching from a distance. “Is this how you want the world tour to end? In a viral video? In a public scene?”

Mark tightened his gaze. “Fuck you,” he spit out. He blinked, sighing. “We start boarding in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”

Jaebeom finished his second drink, closing out his tab and standing back up onto considerably looser legs. When he turned to leave the restaurant, Bambam was standing near the entrance.

“Hyung,” he called. “What are you doing alone?”

Jaebeom sighed. “I’m always alone, Bammie.” He pat the boy’s shoulder, squeezing past him to keep walking. 

But Bam reached out grabbing the front of his hoodie. “Hey,” he said. But then his face broke into a grimace. He let go, backing away a couple of steps. “Oh my god. You reek. What have you been drinking?”

Jaebeom didn’t answer his question. He just sighed. “What do you care?”

“Hyung,” Bam shook his head. “After everything? You’re doing this again?”

Jaebeom was silent. Something about looking into the boy’s dark eyes making him remember too fondly that little kid that kneeled in front of him at the fan sign. He felt something crawling up his spine. Something too akin to guilt. 

Bam blinked. “Where are they?” he murmured. Close for only them to hear.

Jaebeom looked back, hardening his expression. “I fired them.”

“Why?”

“Why does it matter?” Jaebeom bit back, his eyes getting glossy.

“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be like this right now,” Bambam shook his head.

Jaebeom felt the emotions getting the best of him. Welling up inside him like the sting of the drinks going down. “It’s not your business, Bam,” he said, voice growing shaky. “It’s not for your followers. It’s not for the tabloids. It never was. It was something else.” And he could feel the words pouring out, but the meanings were getting all jumbled inside of him. “But now it’s over. Or maybe it was never real to begin with. How am I supposed to know? All I know is that they’re not meant for me. They never were. And that’s why they’re gone.” And he felt the draftiness of the airport against his face and it only hit him then that there were tears down his cheeks. “They’re gone.” He repeated. He took one of his jacket sleeves and wiped roughly at the skin, feeling the way it reddened with irritation.

And Bam, for maybe the first time Jaebeom could remember, was rendered speechless. And he just stood there, looking hurt and pitying and Jaebeom hated it.

“I have a flight to catch,” he said, brushing Bambam’s shoulder as he passed him. And not looking back.


	11. Some Apartment in the City

**Two months later.**

The apartment was quiet. Almost only quiet. Sure, sometimes it was the hum of the television playing some variety show in the background. Sometimes it was the air con fighting weakly against the dissipating heat of early September. Sometimes it was the choked sobs that would whittle their way out of Jaebeom’s chest in the late night when his brain was too hazy to remember in the morning. But occasionally. Maybe once a week or so. There was a knock on his door. A knock could only mean one thing.

Jaebeom managed to pull himself out of bed and stumble towards the door. He looked at the screen and saw Mark all fisheyed. His handsome features stretched and distorted. His eyes cast off and his mouth small. 

Jaebeom pushed his hair out of his face. Noticing it was going beyond an intentional length and becoming down right neglected as it cast down to his chin. He took in a deep breath as he scrunched it up in his hands, as if to tie it up, before letting it cascade down again with a long exhale. He shook himself a little. Counting to three before opening the door.

“Hey, hyung,” he smiled, leaning in the doorway.

“Jaebeom,” Mark sighed as he bypassed him. Barely looking him over. “Still in your pajamas, I see?”

And Jaebeom looked down before shrugging. “I guess so,” he muttered.

Mark came in, leaning up against the edge of the couch. Crossing his arms tight over his chest.

“Relax. Have a seat,” Jaebeom urged. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m not staying long,” he shook his head.

Jaebeom shrugged his shoulders, going for the kitchen. He opened the fridge. Taking out a beer bottle. He opened it up, pouring himself a glass. Or was it refilling? He couldn’t remember.

He came back into the living room, taking a seat with a groan. One hand around the glass and the other thrown over the back of the couch. “So,” he sipped at the foam at the edge. “How’s your week?” he singsonged.

Mark’s mouth flattened into a thin line, “Well, you didn’t show up for the company meeting today.” He scratched at the hair on the back of his neck with one hand.

“What are you talking about?” Jaebeom scoffed, sipping again. “The meeting isn’t until Thursday.”

Mark licked his lips. “It is Thursday.”

Jaebeom thought distantly. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Mark stood up, starting to pace. 

And Jaebeom sat back, knowing exactly how to read him. Knowing a lecture was coming.

“When you got back, they were very understanding. I told them you were tired from the world tour. I told them you needed time to rest,” Mark paced. “But it’s been two months, Jaebeom. And they want their next album. And your re-sign is coming up. And if you don’t show some enthusiasm to get back into the studio soon, they aren’t going to be interested in continuing with you. And the job, the apartment, everything, will be gone.”

Jaebeom swallowed. “That sounds like a dream,” he smiled, letting his eyes sparkle.

Mark stopped. He didn’t reply. He just looked back with his eyes hard and his brows furrowed.

“Don’t you see how hard I’m trying here?” he shook his head. “The reason you’re not in rehab again is me. I advocated for you. I covered up the drinking.” He sighed hard, hands going into his hair. “And maybe that makes me the idiot. Because I just thought you’d work this out of your system and pick yourself back up and move forward. Hell, I want to help you pick up but you aren’t interested. You don’t care.”

And Jaebeom looked up. Seeing the way it was hurting him. Knowing distantly that he was right. But also not knowing how to talk to him.

Mark's hard eyes, fixed and unwavering, drilled further into him.

“What?” Jaebeom asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can you just be honest with me?” Mark said, barely over a whisper. “When’s this gonna end?”

It felt like a load of bricks. Heavy on his chest. “I don’t know,” Jaebeom sighed.

Mark didn’t hesitate. “It’s over, Jaebeom. It’s been two months. You fired them.” he said. “Yet, you still won’t let them go.”

Jaebeom felt crushed under the mention of them. Mark should have known better. He shouldn’t be speaking of them like this.

“Don’t ,” Jaebeom said, looking down into his glass. Wondering if he should switch to soju after Mark left. Surely it was too early in the day to switch. But how could time be measured in days and hours anymore? How could time be measured by anything but the moments he was without them?

Mark sighed, ragged. He started making his way to the door. “I rescheduled the meeting for next week,” he sighed. “And you’ll be there.”

Jaebeom didn’t reply.

Mark turned back, looking at him. “Sober up, shower up, and show up. They won’t take your excuses anymore,” he said. “And I’m not gonna keep trying to help someone who shows no interest in getting better.” He left out the door. Only finality in his wake.

Soju it is, Jaebeom thought. Downing the rest of his glass in one gulp.

\---

Maybe it was the weekend now. Sunday? The door knocked again. And Jaebeom thought it was strange. Cause it couldn’t have been Mark this time. He roused from the couch, shuffling down the hall and looking into the screen. He saw Jackson there this time. His tight black denim and his leather jacket. His hair perfectly quaffed. Looking like he was stepping out of a perfume ad.

And Jaebeom could feel the stubble on his upper lip and the looseness of his pajamas and the grease in his long hair but who was he to care anymore. Appearances didn’t matter nearly as much when you were keeping yourself out of the camera’s view. He opened the door.

“Hyung,” Jackson’s eyes were alive. “I missed you.” He came forward, wrapping his arms around Jaebeom immediately and pulling him into a tight embrace.

Jaebeom shuddered, realizing it was the first physical contact he’d had in two months. And feeling all of Jackson’s heat. How his touch always felt too hot. Something about it felt good. And something about it felt not good enough.

He pulled away, looking into Jackson’s face. “It’s been awhile,” he let the door close. Feeling a little shy under his gaze. “Where have you been?”

Jackson shrugged. “I got home from tour and was picked up the next day for another one. A female artist in China. Requested me specifically after she went to your Shanghai show,” he smiled. “So thanks, I guess.”

Jaebeom smirked at his feet. His hands going into his pockets. “You did the work, not me,” he shook his head. “Please come in. Make yourself at home.” He beckoned towards the living room.

Jackson walked in, looking around. It was the first time he’d been there despite him being his dancer for a couple of years now. Because Jaebeom had so few private spaces in this world and Jackson never got that far. And it made him wonder why.

“What about you?” Jackson took a seat on the couch. “What have you been up to?” 

And Jaebeom didn’t know how to answer.

So instead he pointed towards the kitchen and asked, “Can I make you a drink?”

Jackson smiled, like he didn’t even care about not getting an answer. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Jaebeom turned away, going to the fridge and pulling it open. Letting the cool air seep out and pool around his feet. And staring into the bright light. Feeling a little lost. Like he had forgotten why he was there. Or why Jackson was there. Why was he there?

A few moments passed while his slowed brain worked. Flipping the idea over and over like a stone getting tossed smooth by the waves. But then, he felt arms come around his middle, securing over his waist. A warm flush against his back. 

Jackson giggled, setting his chin against his shoulder. “God,” he huffed. “Do you have any food in there? All I see are bottles.”

Jaebeom shook away whatever he’d been thinking. He huffed. “Shut up,” he answered, grabbing a beer for them to share.

Jackson leaned more forward, reaching out his hand and grabbing at a green soju bottle. “This is the selection, then? Convenience store shit?” he jeered. “Hyung. You know I’m a bit classier than that. Even a nice wine would be more poetic than this swill.”

Jaebeom’s mind briefly flashed. Thinking about the taste of red wine on Jinyoung and Youngjae’s mouths. Having figured out at some point between then and now that they’d shared a bottle and a bed and Jaebeom as well. “I don’t do wine anymore,” he swallowed.

The fridge door fell closed and Jackson pushed at his hips to turn him. “Here,” he grabbed the brown bottle from his hand. “Let me play dongsaeng,” his voice smiling and flirty. He pulled away, placing the bottles down and starting to flit about looking for glasses.

Jaebeom smiled, pulling himself up on the counter. Something about watching Jackson stumble his way around his home like he was comfortable there made Jaebeom feel more comfortable too.

Jackson made a pleased sound when he finally found them. Uncapping the bottles with a roll and mixing them with practiced pours.

And Jaebeom watched, knowing the blurriness was coming and knowing it would make Jackson’s subtle worship that much more charming.

Jackson handed him a glass, holding his up to clink. “Cheers,” he called in English.

“Cheers,” Jaebeom answered, toasting before knocking it back. And he tasted none of them in it. And that’s what mattered most.

Jackson grimaced through his gulp, putting his glass down. “I heard the company’s wanting an album.”

Jaebeom shrugged, passing his glass over. “Don’t they always?”

Jackson smiled that million kilowatt smile and started refilling both of them. “When are you gonna start it?”

Jaebeom didn’t want to talk about it. “It will happen when it happens,” he said. “I’m not in a rush.”

“You know the more time you spend away from the public eye, the more they’ll want you when you come back,” Jackson passed back the glass. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder after all.”

And Jaebeom knew that all too well. He took the glass, downing it again. Eyes pressed close as he tried to drown out the ache around his edges. He set the glass down again. He looked back to Jackson.

Jackson was all smirks and open, shiny eyes. Leaning his elbow against the counter beside his untouched glass, his chin in his palm. That dreamy look he always had for Jaebeom. The one he was too used to seeing in the faces of others. Like they were only seeing what they wanted to see. Not the despondent alcoholic but someone else. Someone that Jaebeom didn’t know.

Jackson picked himself up, nudging Jaebeom’s legs apart to stand between them. His hands going to his thighs, smoothing up. “I missed you,” he hummed. “I thought about you every day while I was gone.”

“Hmmm,” Jaebeom hummed back, not fully listening.

“I called Mark. I asked how you were. He said you were hurting,” Jackson’s hands passed over Jaebeom’s hips, up to his sides. “I couldn’t wait to come home. I couldn’t wait to make it better.” And he leaned up onto his toes until his mouth was close against Jaebeom’s ear. “I always knew how to make it better, right?”

And Jaebeom didn’t respond. He just watched as Jackson came to face him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. And he could smell the way the alcohol mixed with both of their chemistries. And then mixed with each other. Bitter and sour and familiar. 

Jackson closed the remaining space between them. Lips fitting over Jaebeom’s. Hands moving back down towards his hips, fingers splayed. Dragging him closer and more open. Trying to let Jaebeom envelop him. His tongue running deftly along the seam of his lips.

Jaebeom kissed him back, opening it up to let their tastes mingle. Still bitter and familiar. But not in the way Jaebeom wanted it to be. The kiss felt razor sharp, biting and hissing against each other. And his hands felt hot enough to burn right through him. That feeling like a fight that always shook up both of them when they did this.

Jackson’s hand skimmed back down, coming between Jaebeom’s legs. Rubbing against him. Firm and confident.

It ached. But not in the way it was supposed to. Not in the way it did before. Not in that pleasurable way. The one that made the pills go down easier before the shows. No, this was a different kind of ache. One that had his mind thinking back to the emergency lights of the locker room. The shadows playing against Jackson’s sharp edges. Truth spilled out in a way that couldn’t be put back.

Jackson’s mouth went down to his neck, gritting his teeth against the skin. Eager and insistent. Just like his hand.

And the ache didn’t stop. Jaebeom felt something rise in his throat. Maybe a moan or a whine. But when he pushed it up, he realized it wasn’t any of those things. “Did it feel good?” he breathed out instead. And couldn’t stop the rest. “To tell me about them. As good as you hoped it would?”

If Jackson was surprised, he didn’t show it. He just continued the assault that felt like it was wearing down into a mark. “Not as good as this,” Jackson sighed, against his skin. His fingers folding over him and tugging him through the fabric.

And if Jaebeom’s intention was to stuff it back down and just succumb to whatever Jackson was willing to give him, the looseness of his alcohol soaked lips had other plans. He gritted his teeth at the burn of Jackson’s heat, the insistence of his touch. “You didn’t do it for me,” he hissed.

Jackson’s mouth didn’t stop but the smile in it seemed to fall. Growing more heated in the wrong way. Like he was getting irritated. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t out them cause you’re loyal,” Jaebeom gasped out. “Or cause it was the right thing to do. You outed them cause you wanted this and they were in your way.”

“Why does it matter why I did it?” Jackson shook his head, mouth and nose dragging against the skin. Breath too hot. Hand picking up a steady pace. “The outcome was the same. They are gone and I am here touching you the way you’re supposed to be touched. Because you’re a beautiful man who sings on a stage and catches every eye in the room and that’s why everyone falls in love you.”

And Jaebeom’s mind couldn’t help but contrast the words against Jinyoung’s. The ones he shyly admitted in that bathroom in Seattle. How Jinyoung hadn’t needed his mouth on Jaebeom’s skin or his hand moving against him to make his point.

Jaebeom sighed, his hands fitting against Jackson’s chest. He pushed him away. “That’s enough.”

Jackson pulled back. He looked at him. Eyes wide and sharp. Mouth red and wet and open. Taken aback. “What?”

Jaebeom shook his head. “I’m not feeling this.”

Jackson seemed to shift all of that tense energy into something angry. His nostrils flared and his chest rose. His eyes looked blackened with hurt, swallowing all that eagerness that had been there a moment ago. “You know, hyung” he said, voice low and venomous. “You don’t look like yourself anymore. Ever since you met them. You look so different.”

Jaebeom licked his lips, leaning his head back to rest against the kitchen cabinet. Staring down at him through an indignant expression. “Maybe you just can’t recognize someone you never really knew.”

“I wanted to know you,” Jackson said, nodding. “I tried.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jaebeom shook his head. “You wanted to know JB.”

Jackson grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest. Annoyed. “What’s the big difference?”

And it hit Jaebeom exactly where it needed to. 

He swallowed. Any remaining ache settling itself back down into it’s comfortable position. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should go.”

And Jackson’s face crumpled. His shoulders dropped. “That’s it then,” he said. “You’re pushing me out again. Because of them.”

And the words tasted just as bitter as Jackson’s mouth on their way out. “Jacks,” he huffed. “You were never let in in the first place.” 

And he could see how the words hit him. Making him step back from their force. And he took a moment, before speaking again.

“Good luck on that album, Jaebeom,” he bit out the last words, sarcastic and caustic. “I’ll see you around if your company doesn’t drop you.”

And with that, Jackson walked out. Slamming the door on his way out.

\---

Jaebeom wasn’t happy to be walking in through the doors of his company for the first time in a long time, but he was there nonetheless. Greeting the usual staff members at the front with a nod and a tight smile. His sunglasses over his eyes shielding him from the bright lights that threatened his too sober eyes.

He sat through the whole meeting. Sitting back in his chair with his fingers folded in front of him. Listening. Watching. Not participating except for small, curt nods so that they knew he hadn’t drifted off to sleep behind his glasses.

Nothing they said surprised him. They used their words. They referenced his contract. They spoke of numbers and public opinion and influence. Said he wouldn’t have any of those things if he didn’t start moving again soon. And they offered to get him whoever he wanted to work with. Said they already had a list of approved songs for him. Said they’d been sitting in his email inbox since he was in the States. They told him that he had two weeks. And if they didn’t have him in a studio by then, making genuine progress, he’d be out. 

All the while, Mark sat in the corner. Just as wordless. Spinning his chair in a half circle, back and forth. Fist pressed up against his mouth as if to keep him from speaking. And every so often, him and Jaebeom would meet eyes. And in that look was all that fear that was eating away at Mark. And the words weren’t there but his eyes seemed to say, “See. I tried to tell you. They aren’t joking.” 

Jaebeom agreed. Two weeks. And they adjourned the meeting.

He decided to walk home. He didn’t live too far. He just had that desire to watch cars pass him like he was nothing important. He took some back streets. And luckily, only eyes and cell phone cameras seemed to follow for short tracks of time. Not feet or paparazzi. For once.

And he thought to another album. Of some outsourced producers writing him all these cheesy pop songs about how tonight's the only night. And he couldn’t help but think of how those songs would never compare to the look of wonder in Youngjae’s eyes or the sense of fulfillment when Jinyoung finally let him deeper than the surface. Because how could he sing about anything but them now? How could sing about anyone but them ever again?

The thoughts made his throat feel dry for a drink, so when he was almost home, he stopped at his convenience store to pick up some essentials. He grabbed a basket, making his way towards the refrigerated area in the back and knowing exactly which door to grab. He held it open, slipping a few bottles into his basket.

He felt the eyes on him first. His respite from the public making him hyper aware. And when he looked back, over the top of his sunglasses. He saw a head of freshly icy blonde hair turning away. Hiding their face. Focusing their gaze and their hands on the ice cream case and digging through it with renewed vigor. Lean body and long legs and pointed boots.

Jaebeom sighed. He turned back towards the fridge. “Bammie. I can see you,” he called, not looking back.

In his peripherals, he saw him turn back. Shuffling as indiscriminately as possible. “Oh,” spoke through his warm accent. “Hey, hyung. Fancy seeing you here.”

Jaebeom felt a smirk press against his face. “As if you don’t know my address,” he jeered. Slipping another bottle into his basket. He looked back to the boy.

Bam’s eyes were locked onto the contents of his basket before drawing back up to his face.

“What do you want?” Jaebeom sighed, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

Bambam licked his lips. “I just wanted to see how you are,” he shrugged.

Jaebeom closed the fridge door, hoisting the basket up to his hip and pushing his sunglasses up his face. “How does it look?”

Bam grimaced, weighing himself between his feet. “Not good,” he sighed.

Jaebeom shrugged. He bypassed him in the aisle, letting their shoulders brush. He put his basket down in front of the cashier, unloading the bottles one by one.

If the cashier knew who he was, she was too polite to comment. Instead, just steadfastly scanning the bottles and bagging them.

“You’ve been awfully quiet the past couple of months,” Bam’s voice cut through the beeps.

Jaebeom sighed. “I’ve been resting,” he said.

“45,000 won.”

Jaebeom pulled out his wallet, swiping his card. “And you?” he didn’t look up.

“If you don’t work, I don’t work either,” Bam offered.

“Mmm,” Jaebeom hummed, realizing. “Maybe you should get a real job then.” He cast a sarcastic glance his way as the cashier double bagged his bottles.

Bambam shook his head, “Nah. I have this weird feeling that I was put on this earth specifically to bother you.”

Jaebeom hid his smile. Thanking the cashier and taking the bag. He started walking towards the door before looking over his shoulder. “Come along then. You’ve got a purpose to fulfill.”

And Bam’s face broke out in a small smile. He jogged after him.

They started walking down the street towards Jaebeom’s apartment. Bambam at his heels. “So when are you gonna be done resting?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Bam.”

“Your fans are worried about you.”

“They’re always worried about something. This is nothing different.”

“Except this seems like it’s something to worry about,” Bam reached down, tapping a knuckle against one of the glass bottles through the bag.

“You tend to do this thing,” Jaebeom started. “Where you hide behind the fans. You say the fans are worried. The fans wanna know. But you don’t really mean it. You just mean you.”

Bam didn’t speak for a minute. Deflating a little. “I guess I just figure why would you care about just me?”

“I’m listening,” Jaebeom looked up at the sky, noticing the slight chill in the wind that seemed to be trying to bring autumn with it. “Speak your mind.”

Bambam sighed. Thinking his words out before saying them. Maybe translating them in his head. Or maybe just making sure he was careful. “You’re not happy. And it doesn’t take a super fan to spot that.”

“Okay,” Jaebeom said, neither denying or validating it.

“And knowing what I know, it’s not hard to see why.”

“What you think you know,” Jaebeom raised a finger to correct him. “It’s all a matter of perception, isn’t it?”

“I know you loved them.”

And Jaebeom stopped in his tracks. He turned towards the boy.

“And, you’re right,” Bam shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. The reason or the details. But I know you regret what you did. And you wish you could take it back but you don’t know how. Cause you do that.”

“Bam,” Jaebeom warned.

“If they make you happy, hyung,” he sighed. “I don’t get why you can’t just admit it and go find them.”

“Don’t call me hyung.” Jaebeom licked his lips. “And it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Bambam huffed, talking emphatically with his hands. “What did they do that was so wrong? I don’t get it. Explain it to me.”

And Jaebeom hadn’t admitted it outloud since Seattle. Sure, he had to face it everyday in his head. Had to cycle between feeling hurt and feeling resentful. But saying it was too hard. He took a deep breath. His voice coming out soft. “They lied to me,” he persevered through the words. “They were married the whole time. And they didn’t tell me. They pretended not to know each other.”

Bam stopped. Thinking. Processing. Face unable to hide his confusion. “Why?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

“You haven’t asked them.”

Jaebeom sighed. Feeling his judgement. “I didn’t really have the chance.”

“You didn’t have the chance or you didn’t give them the chance?”

Jaebeom didn’t have a response. Feeling pinned.

Bam sighed. “Why don’t you reach out?”

Jaebeom took a step back, feeling defensive. “How?” he furrowed his brows. “I don’t have their numbers. I don’t know where they live.”

Bambam nodded. “Let me do some research. I can find them.”

Jaebeom’s mind rushed at the possibility of seeing them again. Together. The possibility exciting him and filling him with terror all at once. Because what if they confirmed his doubts? That they never really loved him. He combed a hand through his long hair. “I mean what could they say? What would possibly make it better?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t talk to them.” Bambam was quiet. Watching him. Watching the way the thought flashed across his features. “Just think about it,” he nodded. “Oh and take this,” he rushed. Pulling a small notebook from his bag and a pen. He scribbled something down, ripping it and handing it over.

Jaebeom looked down at it. A set of numbers. A smiley face in the corner. “What is this?”

“My phone number,” Bam smiled, leaning onto one leg. “In case you need a friend.”

Jaebeom didn’t smile back. He barely blinked from behind his sunglasses. Mind still elsewhere. “I’ll see you around, Bam,” he sighed. Turning away to go up to his apartment where he promptly threw the scrap of paper in the trash.

\---

Jaebeom was settling in for a quiet night. Because they were all quiet nights. He was half watching the television. Fading in and out of something that felt like sleep, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was. And then he heard a knock at his door.

He raised his head, furrowing his brows at the sound. Not knowing who it could be at this hour. 

He looked into the screen and saw a head of dark hair with a neat haircut. Mark’s head turned away, looking down the hall. His shoulders high and his leg bouncing. And Jaebeom wasn’t quite sure what would make him so nervous.

He pulled open the door. “Hyung?” he asked, his voice rough from disuse.

The dark hair turned towards him. And Jaebeom’s eyes washed over the face. Soft cheeks. Strong jaw. Bare, brown eyes. Pretty, pink mouth. Skin kissed with warmth. And he realized too late that it wasn’t Mark at all but Jinyoung standing in front of his door. Even more perfect than Jaebeom remembered. 

His hands were in the pockets of his light jeans. His cardigan too big over his t-shirt, long sleeves drooping low on his knuckles. Making him look small and safe. But he could still see that firmness that lie just below the surface of his softness. And he was remembering too vividly how it felt. 

Jaebeom froze in his place. Unable to stop looking at him. Feeling like this was some dream he’d wake up from at any moment.

“Since when am I hyung?” Jinyoung spoke, his voice still that rolling deep warmth that sounded like music on a rainy day.

Jaebeom’s mouth felt dry. “I thought you were Mark,” he said, softly. Feeling the words choke up in his throat.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“How did you find me?”

“You’re remarkably easy to find,” Jinyoung almost smirked, but it was layered with something Jaebeom couldn’t read.

And Jaebeom still couldn’t stop staring. Letting the sight fill in all those little gaps that his imperfect memory had lost over time. He could feel immediately the way it seemed to write over the bad ones. As if half of him would willingly forgive any wrongdoing as long as he kept being in his proximity. While the other half was fiercely opposed to forgiveness or proximity. And they seemed unsettled on a course of action.

“Are you gonna invite me in?” Jinyoung asked, his eyebrows moving up softly.

Jaebeom swallowed. “I’m not sure.” Being too honest.

Jinyoung pressed his lips into a thin line. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said. “And if you still want me to leave after that, I’ll go. No questions asked.”

“It should be obvious you work with addicts. With all the bargaining you do.”

“The difference is, I always deliver on my promises,” Jinyoung smiled softly.

And Jaebeom felt warm all over before it turned cold. Punishing himself immediately. He moved aside, letting Jinyoung in.

Jinyoung lead himself down the hall towards the living room, looking up around him at Jaebeom’s place. 

And it was surreal to watch him. Jinyoung finally intersecting with this idea of home in a way that Jaebeom had wanted him to. And it made that hole inside of him ache to think about having to amputate Jinyoung's memory out of this setting later on. Because it would be too difficult for the ghost of his presence to linger here. 

They sat down on the couch, opposite ends. The distance between them reminding Jaebeom of their sessions. Being far enough away to not simulate closeness that wasn’t there. And it had Jaebeom wondering if that closeness would stubbornly still be hanging on.

Jinyoung licked his lips. Wringing his hands together. “How have you been?”

Jaebeom sighed. “Where’s your notepad?”

Jinyoung smiled down to his lap, before drawing his eyes back up to him. “Ask me something then.”

And there were too many questions to ask him so he just jumped to the most innocuous ones. “What have you been up to?”

Jinyoung looked away. “I’m taking a break from work,” he nodded. 

“Where have you been living?”

“I have a small place in the city. Just across the river from here. Up in the hills.” He pointed out the window, as if you could see it from there.

Jaebeom didn’t turn his face to look. “Sounds nice,” he said. Not sure what to say.

Jinyoung’s eyes looked to his face. “Your hair is long,” he said.

Jaebeom combed his hair behind his ears, self-conscious. “Yeah,” he rushed to say. “I’ve been meaning to get it cut. Just haven’t had time.”

“Don’t,” Jinyoung said. “It suits you.”

And it was barely a compliment so Jaebeom couldn’t understand why he was feeling it everywhere. Warmth seeping through his skin like Jinyoung spilled it. 

Jinyoung’s eyes scanned the coffee table. It had three or four bottles on it in various states of emptiness. He swallowed. “Is this how it is now?” his voice wavering slightly.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom nodded. “This is how it is now.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask like you don’t know,” Jaebeom shook his head.

“Just say it.”

“I’m hurt, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom’s throat felt rough as the words came out. “I’m really hurt. And I’m suffering. And this is the only way I know how to do that.”

“Why does it hurt?”

And Jaebeom knew he was trying to get somewhere. Using too much of his training for something so personal but he didn’t care. Because Jaebeom never got to speak and now Jinyoung was there listening like he used to and it was unraveling him. “You did what my old manager did. You knew he lied to me. Pretended to care just to get what he wanted from me. And you weren’t any different.”

“What was I trying to get from you?” Jinyoung challenged.

Jaebeom paused. Because it was the question he’d been asking himself every day since he got home. “I don’t know,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve considered a million different things. That it was all just a game to you. An easy paycheck. A funny story for cocktail parties. And I was beginning to think that I’d never find out.”

“Maybe I just wanted you,” Jinyoung shrugged. Saying it in that nonchalant way that Jaebeom hated. Too cool, too calm.

Jaebeom scoffed. “Why? Why would you want me?”

Jinyoung sighed. “You are going to play that card?”

“Which one? You have all of them. You always did.” Jaebeom asked. Feeling himself getting warm from the back and forth that always flowed freely, albeit fiercely, between them.

Jinyoung smirked for a moment, letting it fall. “The one where you act like I never really loved you.” 

Jaebeom looked at him. Something wild awakening in him.

Jinyoung let the statement hang for a moment before taking a quick breath to continue. “I remember when I first met you. You said love was really knowing a person. And accepting them for all their flaws. And them accepting you.”

Jaebeom felt flushed. Remembering the way that office in the mountains felt. Rife with unspoken tension. Jinyoung hiding himself behind his words and his glasses while Jaebeom tried desperately to bridge the space between them by opening up in ways he never had before. And though they’d come so far since then, it still wasn’t so different. Jinyoung was still something ambiguous and breathtaking and Jaebeom was still an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

“Under that definition,” Jinyoung wore his hands together. “I think it was pretty clear that I loved you.”

And Jaebeom felt as dizzy as the drinks made him feel. But he was desperate not to give in. “Under that definition, I couldn’t have loved you,” he shook his head. “Because I never really knew you.” 

“No, you did,” Jinyoung said, like he was sure. “Because I’m still that same asshole. The one who can’t admit when he’s in love. The one who’s stubborn and insensitive. The one who wanted more than anything to know all your stories. To never stop listening to you tell them.” 

Jaebeom took a breath. Looking into his eyes and seeing how certain they were.

“Sometimes,” Jinyoung offered. “I think that maybe you actually knew more than you thought you did. I mean think about it. You went through that tour thinking that my other half was some stranger who was oceans away. You thought it was this part of my life that was locked away from you. But that wasn’t the case. You knew him and you loved him and because of that, you knew me more than you could begin to realize.”

Jaebeom felt himself rush at the thought of him. His cool hands. His kind eyes. His bright smile. And the question rose up his throat. But before he could ask it-

Jinyoung looked at his watch. “That’s fifteen minutes.” 

And Jaebeom went from warm to cold. Wondering how he possibly had more questions now than when they started.

Jinyoung licked his lips. “What do you think? Do you want me to go?”

Jaebeom’s throat felt rough. “You won’t even apologize.”

Jinyoung took in a breath. Taking considerable effort to work up the words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. That was never the intention. It just... “ he sighed. “It got out of hand. And I have a lot of regrets about how it happened.”

They’d been the words Jaebeom had wanted to hear for so long and so he couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. He felt himself hold his breath, trying to hold it back.

“But there’s not a day that goes by that I regret it happening,” Jinyoung said. “It meant too much for me to regret it happening.”

“Was I…” Jaebeom was choking up, swallowing down the tears. “Was I just second for both of you? An addition to something that was already complete?” His fingers wearing against each other, trying to keep busy. Trying to keep from falling apart.

Jinyoung looked taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

“Why wouldn’t I think that?” Jaebeom scoffed, eyes getting glossy. “You two were whole long before I came into the picture. There couldn’t have been a space for me.”

Jinyoung moved forward, reaching out. “Jaebeom, come here,” he offered his hand.

And Jaebeom looked at it. Knowing he shouldn’t. But god, he ached. And Jinyoung looked like he was willing to take it away for him. And he wasn’t strong enough to not give into that. So he took his hand.

Jinyoung pulled him closer, reaching out to draw him in. His hand going to the back of Jaebeom’s neck.

Jaebeom lay his head on Jinyoung’s chest. His arms instinctively wrapping around him. And he felt Jinyoung’s warmth permeating him, curling in his stomach and remembering cities and beaches and rooftops. He felt the shudder of his chest as he couldn’t stop the tears anymore, leaving droplets on the fibers of Jinyoung’s cardigan.

“Hey,” Jinyoung pulled his chin up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Who was second? Between me and him?”

Jaebeom sniffed, feeling the way his cheeks stiffened with drying salt. He shook his head. “Neither of you. It was just different. I told you that in Los Angeles.”

“I know,” Jinyoung nodded. His eyes open. “And I love him and I love you. And you’re different people but I still can’t imagine my life without either of you.”

Jaebeom caught the switch to present tense. He saw the glimmering of Jinyoung’s warm eyes. Awake and alive. Remembering how good it felt when he could finally break him down to this. To him being open and honest and warm in the way he tried not to be. He felt everything in him ache, shuddering out another sob.

Jinyoung wiped away his tears with his thumb. “So none of this second stuff?” he furrowed his brows. “Okay?”

Jaebeom’s chest heaved. He nodded.

Jinyoung’s thumb came to rest at his mouth, brushing against the edge of his lip. His eyes darting down to watch it.

“Do you mean it?” Jaebeom asked, fitting his hand over Jinyoung’s.

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. Confused.

“Do you still love me?”

Jinyoung had already said it once and Jaebeom knew it was foolish to think he’d say it again. Which is why he wasn’t as surprised when instead Jinyoung drew his face closer, so close that Jaebeom instinctively closed his eyes. Until they were just exchanging body heat between their faces. Until it was too much for either to bare.

Jaebeom leaned forward, kissing him first. Feeling the way the salt on his skin became Jinyoung’s. Closing his eyes hard to keep from crying again. Because it had him aching in just the right way.

Jaebeom pulled away. Looking into his face. Watching as his eyes opened.

“Don’t do that if you’re just gonna tell me to leave again,” Jinyoung sighed, his fingers coming up to push Jaebeom’s hair out of his face.

Jaebeom stood up, grabbing Jinyoung’s hand. He dragged him across the living room, to his bedroom. Not bothering with the lights. He guided him to the edge of the bed, sitting down. Looking up at him. Asking without saying.

Jinyoung leaned down, kissing him again. His hands went to his chest, pushing him down before climbing over him. 

Jaebeom felt the spark awakening things that had been lying dormant in him for too long. The buzz that usually just existed in his head, rushing down through his body. Just under the surface, only exacerbated by the way Jinyoung’s hands started moving up his arms and chest.

Jaebeom’s fingers pushed the cardigan off his shoulders, throwing it aside and raking up his strong arms. And then they dove again, feeling for the hem of his t-shirt and raking it up his back.

Jinyoung slid out of it, sitting up on him. Looking down with those eyes that glimmered through the dimness of the room.

And Jaebeom could see the way the light played against the top of his chest, the height of his cheekbone, the bow of his lips. And it made him think back to that painting. Knowing that even if had filled him with dread when he saw it, it had captured all that beauty and truth in him. Exactly to the artist’s intent.

He let his hands work their way up all the firmness of his torso, taking it all in. Because he hadn’t known how long he’d be without it last time and it made him feel desperate to make up for lost time.

Jinyoung’s hands went to Jaebeom’s shirt, pushing it up his frame. He almost had it off, when he pulled away. “How could you treat yourself like this?” he whispered out.

Jaebeom nearly smiled, before he realized it wasn’t a jest but serious.

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung looked back with hardened eyes before pulling back and grabbing his wrist. “Come on,” he pulled him.

Jaebeom followed, stumbling away from the bed and letting himself be dragged to the bathroom.

Jinyoung flicked on the lights, dropping Jaebeom’s wrist and going to the shower. Turning the handle on.

“What are you doing?” Jaebeom asked. Eyes blinking in the bright lights.

“You’re filthy,” Jinyoung chasticized. Grabbing for his shirt again.

And though the words were aggressive, there was something loving in them that made Jaebeom smile this time. 

Jinyoung fumbled with Jaebeom’s sweatpants, pushing them down his hips and letting them pool on the floor. “Get in there.”

“Are you coming?” Jaebeom stared back with wide eyes.

“Who else is going to clean you up?” Jinyoung smirked. Fingers working his belt open. He shoved his jeans down and off.

They got in the shower, feeling the heat of the water start to steam the room as it ran over their bodies.

Jinyoung looked through his bottles, brows drawn, until he found the soap, squeezing it into his palms and rubbing them until the sud. He put them to Jaebeom, smoothing them over him and coating his body in them.

He felt his touch cutting through the grime of too many days unshowered, sitting around his house, and letting the alcohol seep through his skin. And it felt so good to be cared for. He could feel himself getting sensitive. Feeling too much, he reached out. Putting his hands to Jinyoung’s face and kissing him hard again. Backing him against the tile and licking into his mouth.

Jinyoung complied, sliding their tongues together as his hands continued to move. Breaking away just to speak against his mouth. “How dare you treat yourself like this? Mistreat something so beautiful.”

And Jaebeom felt the comment run over him, settling somewhere deep, so he kept kissing him. Nipping at his lip and pulling at it, just to watch it swell wet and shiny under the spray. His wet hair running into his eyes.

Jaebeom felt all the heat pooling inside of him, cascading downwards in a million electric signals and telling him to never stop touching Jinyoung. He took his hand between the man’s legs, letting it close over him, feeling how hard he was getting despite the lack of contact. He started to pump him, eased by the slide of the water.

Jinyoung hissed, hands starting to apply more pressure against Jaebeom’s body.

Jaebeom continued, going back in to kiss him more.

Jinyoung rolled his hips forward into the feeling. Bending himself into Jaebeom’s touch, further and further like he might break. But then he put hands to his chest, pushing him away and reaching to grab the shampoo. “Let me wash your hair,” he said, through a smile.

And Jaebeom nodded, getting down on his knees and watching Jinyoung’s eyes go wide.

He looked up at him, his hands going towards the back of Jinyoung’s thighs and pulling them closer. “Are you gonna wash it or what?” he smiled, starting to kiss them.

Jinyoung swallowed, hands going to work through his long locks.

Jaebeom continued planting sweet kisses up his thighs, every so often digging his teeth in and watching Jinyoung bare his teeth momentarily at the pinch.

His hand coming up to grab him again, just to ease him into the heat of his mouth. Sliding down his length before pulling back up. Kissing the underside and looking up to watch him

“God,” Jinyoung groaned, working his fingers against his scalp almost harshly. “Your hair is so hot.”

“Really?” Jaebeom smiled, from below, tracing his tongue along the edge and feeling him shudder.

Jinyoung gulped. “Don’t ever cut it,” his voice shook.

“Okay,” Jaebeom agreed, putting him back in his mouth and working against him. And he didn’t stop, listening eagerly as the small sounds fell from Jinyoung’s mouth. A trail of hisses and breaths. All the while working his hair with his fingers.

Eventually, he felt his hands leave, reaching down to pull Jaebeom up. Kissing him hard and he pushed him under the water to rinse his hair. And once the water rang clear, Jinyoung reached behind him, turning it off.

“Much better,” he hummed, kissing him again. “Now I can finish you.” He beckoned towards the bedroom, “Go.”

Jaebeom didn’t bother to dry off, making his way back to the room and immediately going to a drawer, rummaging through its contents. He procured the bottle of lube he’d been looking for. He looked back to see Jinyoung walking up behind him. 

“Here,” he said, handing it out to him.

Jinyoung took it, throwing his hand around his waist and pushing him to the bed. He threw him down onto his back, sitting between his legs. He squeezed the bottle into his fingers, pushing Jaebeom’s leg upwards to grant him access. He didn’t hesitate, pushing a finger into him.

And it had been awhile and the feeling had tears pricking at the edges of Jaebeom’s eyes, slightly from the burn but more so from the pleasure. He left out a groan.

Jinyoung slid another one in, stretching into him.

And Jaebeom fell more and more open with every move, legs widening around Jinyoung.

Jinyoung massaged into him, watching his face with furrowed brows. As if making notes of which spots had Jaebeom biting down onto his lower lip. He pulled out his fingers, slicking himself before leaning forward, hands resting on either side of Jaebeom’s hips. He started to rub against him. 

Jaebeom angled his hips down, trying to slide him in with little success. Wanting to feel him. He sighed, frustrated. “Who’s the tease now?”

And Jinyoung smiled. Not responding with words but instead pushing into him.

He moaned, feeling Jinyoung throbbing against his walls. Knowing no better feeling in the world.

Jinyoung shifted his hips back, then up again, starting to work into him. Lips tight in concentration, trying to assert control without crumbling into how good it felt.

Jaebeom smiled at him, raising himself up on his elbows and drawing one hand out to Jinyoung neck to pull his face close and kiss him. “Uh,” he groaned, lewdy and showy. Tongue working against his mouth. “Dr. Park,” he called out. “Fuck,” he breathed.

And Jinyoung ate it up, his thrusts growing quicker and more powerful. His breaths heaving out of his chest.

“Oh god,” Jaebeom whined, their damp foreheads pressing together. “I love you. I missed you. So much.” 

Feeling the way he unraveled, sloppy and eager. Coming too fast and too hard with a groan that stretched out. Jinyoung froze. Eyes pressed shut and mouth tight. His whole body reading as over sensitive. 

Jaebeom watched him pull away just to slump down at the edge of the bed, in between Jaebeom’s legs. And he leaned back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a smile etched across his face. He relished the way Jinyoung’s humid skin rose and fell as he caught his breath.  
And then he felt a hand coming around him, gripping him with warm fingers. And he looked down to see Jinyoung propped up, between his legs. Wet hair pushed back from his face and his pretty lips hovering over his tip.

The sight alone had him releasing a lewd whine. 

Jinyoung sank down onto him, letting his mouth envelope him. All heat and wetness as Jinyoung’s bleary post-climax eyes burned through him. Red and glossy and absolutely breathtaking.

And Jaebeom wondered why he’d been glorifying his mouth for so long without even having him use it. But now that he was, it was worth the wait. 

Jinyoung took him in, nose brushing the skin before sliding back up. Working in long, slow strokes that had Jaebeom’s eyes fluttering open and close. Going deeper and deeper, almost inhuman. Seeming unbothered by way Jaebeom’s length was filling his mouth up and pushing against the back of his throat. So unbothered, that just as the rhythm was becoming expected, he picked up the pace, sliding down faster and pulling up. Letting his tongue swirl around him on the upstrokes.

Jaebeom’s hands went into Jinyoung wet hair, gripping hard. And he couldn't resist pulling it just to hear and feel the way Jinyoung's moan rumbled around him. He let Jinyoung keep his brutal pace. Watching him in awe.

And before Jaebeom could adjust to the pace, he felt it. Jinyoung’s finger coming to rest at Jaebeom’s wet entrance. Massaging the sensitiveness there. Coating itself in the leaking fluids and teasing like he would enter him again.

Jaebeom arched into it, the combinations of sensations bringing stars to his eyes. And he meant to warn him, but as soon as he looked down, he saw the way Jinyoung’s mouth stretched around him. Pink and pretty and working like it barely phased him. Jaebeom felt himself eclipse. All the blood rushing away from his face and down to meet Jinyoung’s mouth. He cried out. Tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. He unloaded into Jinyoung’s mouth, so hard that it had him doubling over.

Jinyoung milked it out of him, bringing him back down before pulling off him. 

Jaebeom watched the bob in his throat as he swallowed it all in one gulp.

Jinyoung crawled back up the bed. Lying down against his side. Kissing at the skin under his ear.

Jaebeom drew an arm around him, bringing him in for full kiss. Smiling and eager and… happy. For the first time in a long time.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jinyoung whispered.

Jaebeom huffed. “Are you asking the guy who just had the best blow job of his life?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, sliding off of him. “God,” he said. “It’s starting to really cool down, isn’t it?” He started to pull on his clothes.

Jaebeom watched him from his place on the bed, his stomach stirring. And he didn’t want to ask. He really didn’t. But the question had been eating at him since he first met Jinyoung’s eyes.

“How’s he been?” Jaebeom asked.

Jinyoung sighed, not meeting his eyes, “I don’t know.” Knowing immediately who he was speaking of.

Jaebeom paused. The feeling in his stomach no longer stirring but igniting. He sat up. “What do you mean you don’t know?” his voice edged on something harsh.

Jinyoung turned towards him. His eyes suddenly dark. But shy. Awkward. He shrugged. “He left. He went traveling. Said he needed some time.” His voice small. Minute.

Jaebeom head spun. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind that they’d been apart all this time. He felt something welling up inside of him. He rushed to his feet. “How?” he yelled. “Why?”

Jinyoung looked away again. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Head hanging between heavy, small shoulders. “We weren’t doing well,” he swallowed. “We were fighting a lot.”

He felt the rise and fall of his chest quicken. “About what?”

Jinyoung wasn’t quick to answer. He seemed to be reliving things he didn’t want to. “He was mad because it was my idea. To not tell you. To keep the secret.” He took a breath. “And I was mad at him because he didn’t follow the plan. He compromised it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He fell too hard,” Jinyoung said softly. “I didn’t see that coming. I knew I was falling in love with you. But I restricted myself. I kept my distance. Because I wanted to wait for him. Once he knew too, then we could talk to you.” He sighed. “But that didn’t happen. He went all in. Fell so deeply, put his everything into it. And that made it that much harder to tell you. Because of that, you felt like we had betrayed you. Which was exactly what I was afraid would happen.”

And his mind spun. To think about how Youngjae wasn’t just a pawn for Jinyoung. He was acting on his own accord. Against Jinyoung’s wishes. And it shook him a little to know that the plan hadn’t meant to be as sinister as it was. It had just gone out of control like a train off the tracks. Because of Jaebeom. He’d been the disruptor without even knowing it.

“But,” Jaebeom rushed to say. “you didn’t keep your distance forever. You gave into me eventually.”

Jinyoung almost smiled. A flick of the corner of his mouth that was gone in the next blink. “I’m human, Jaebeom,” he looked up at him. “Even I have my limits.”

And it hurt for some reason. To think that this hadn’t gone to hell in a handbasket because they didn’t love him. But the opposite. That they loved him too much. And that contrasted from every thought he’d had these past two months.

“So what?” Jaebeom shrugged. “You guys haven’t spoken? Couples’ tiff?”

Jinyoung didn’t react. Embodying that stony coldness that Jaebeom was all too familiar with. He shook his head. “Once it was three, it couldn’t be two ever again. Not without you there anymore. We both knew it. And we blamed one another for it.” Jinyoung looked into his wringing hands.

“So you just let him go?” Jaebeom sneered.

“He’s his own person, Jaebeom. I can’t keep him where he doesn’t want to be anymore.”

“No,” Jaebeom corrected. He shook his head. “You were more interested in being right then keeping him.”

Jinyoung swallowed. He reset his shoulders. “Don’t act like you know our relationship.”

Jaebeom huffed. “Maybe I don’t know your relationship. But I know you both. I know how stubborn you are. And I know how he hurts in silence. I know you chased him away.”

“Stop!” Jinyoung shouted. 

And Jaebeom felt like he tripped a land mine.

“You act like you know him better than me. But don’t for a minute forget that I loved him first,” he seethed. “I was the roommate who found him when he slit his wrists and nearly didn’t wake up. I was there when he was recovering. Not as his therapist. Not what I told Mark. But as his boyfriend. I married him, for God’s sake. So don’t try and act like you would have known better or done better or loved him better.”

Jinyoung's anger caused something reactive in Jaebeom. He felt himself flare up. The words not hesitating. “If it had been me, he wouldn’t be gone.” he glared at him.

Jinyoung looked back, voice venomous. “Says the one who sent us away.”

“Because you both lied to me!” he screamed. “Because you were the first people I ever gave my heart to and you broke it. You ruined me. You ruined everything. And you don’t care. You come in here and you just want to feel something because you’re just as alone as I am now.”

“That’s not it!” Jinyoung roared. “You always do this. You always act like you know everything. You act like you’re the only one hurting. Remember. You pushed us out, not the other way around. We weren’t perfect. We made mistakes. But god damn it, we loved you. But, you just took your hurt and you kept it for yourself and you drowned it with alcohol because it was easier to fit into your narrative than the truth. Easier to be the star that dies the same way his father did rather than accept that you could possibly be loved.”

“Get out,” Jaebeom said under his breath.

Jinyoung stopped. Realizing he’d gone too far. Shoulders sinking. Pulling back. “Jaebeom, please,” he winced. “Don’t do this. Not again.”

“Get out,” he said more firmly.

“Please, we don’t have to be alone.”

“You were right,” Jaebeom nodded. “Once it was three, it couldn’t be two ever again. And whether that’s just you and Youngjae or me and you, it doesn’t matter. If it’s over for one of us, it’s over for all of us.”

Jinyoung’s eyes blinked, collecting the tears in his eyes together. Letting them get so big that they magnified the warm brown. “Okay,” he whispered. He backed away. “Okay,” he repeated softer. He started to gather his things. Turned away, wiping at his eyes. He pulled on his cardigan. He stopped standing in front of him one last time.

Jaebeom looked at him. His chest wide with a breath. Unable to look away from his glossy eyes and his pretty mouth twisted in hurt. Feeling the moment stretch on too long and not long enough. And if you’d had asked him a few hours ago, he would have said that a heart can only break once. So why was it happening again?

“Goodbye, Jinyoung,” he said.

Jinyoung sniffed. He gave something like a smile but it was laced with too much pain, like a wince. “Goodbye, Jaebeom,” he whispered. Walking out of the room.

And Jaebeom held his breath as Jinyoung’s footsteps fell. The sound of them growing farther and farther away. And with each one, he felt the rise of panic in his throat. Something telling him to rush for him. To grab his arm and drag him back into that room. To keep him there forever. Despite everything. But he didn’t. He just kept listening until the front door shut with finality. And he couldn’t hear any footsteps after that.

He rushed to the kitchen. He threw open the fridge. He grabbed a green bottle of soju, twisting it open and drinking right from it. One gulp, two gulps, three. Three before he felt the burn too much and he pulled away. Throat on fire and chest rising and falling too fast. Everything too much. He screamed loud. Rough and desperate. He threw the bottle against the wall. A deafening crash drowning him out for only a moment before it was clattering to the floor and pooling onto the tile.

Jaebeom’s eyes closed and he could feel the threat of tears. He rubbed his eyes until they burned, trying to keep it all in. All the hurt. All the love. All the gray space between the two.

He went to the trash can, grabbing it and flipping it over. It all clanked out: brown and green bottles. Crashing loud against the tile in one cacophonous symphony. When it was all out, he fell to his knees. His hands splayed, rummaging through it all. Searching, searching.

He finally found it. A small piece of paper. Smiley face in the corner. He got back up and grabbed his phone. He dialed the number with shaky fingers.

It rang. One time. Two times. Jaebeom paced and paced, his feet soaking up the soju until each step splat against the tile.

“Hello?” said an accent. Groaning slightly, through sleepiness.

“Bam,” Jaebeom called, wiping his face. “Can you come over?”

There was a pause. “What?”

“Maybe just for a few days,” Jaebeom rushed to say. “Pack a bag.” 

Bambam wasn’t quick to speak. “Okay, Jaebeom-ssi,” he said. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“Bam,” Jaebeom said through a scratchy throat. “Call me hyung.”


	12. Some Farmhouse Between Mountains

****

****TRIGGER WARNING****  


  


**This chapter contains discussions of suicide attempts.  
**  
**  
Please avoid if these themes are triggering for you.**  


Jaebeom woke up the next morning with a stir. The light was creeping in through the blinds, striping over his eyes and shining like a spotlight. And it glared him awake, he started to notice the throbbing of his head and the burning of his eyes. He scratched at his bare chest, trying to rouse through the pounding, but everything felt too slow and painful.

He looked over, still blinking and adjusting. He saw an unfamiliar shape beside him in bed. When his blurry vision started to clear, he could see a boy with white blonde hair and impossibly long limbs curled up. His feet sticking out at the end. His shirt off, tan skin juxtaposing the white of the sheets.

Jaebeom felt himself panic. He roused from the bed like it was hot to the touch, standing beside it and looking down at Bambam’s peaceful face. Breathing heavy, Jaebeom ran his hands through his long hair. He came around to the other side. Hesitant to touch him. So, he lurched forward quickly. Shaking the boy’s shoulder before pulling back a couple steps. “Bam,” he called. “Wake up.”

Bam hummed, lifting his head before letting it drop again against the pillow. He groaned, pulling up the cover over his face. “Is that seriously how you wake someone up?” he croaked, voice tampered by the duvet. “My god. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Bam,” Jaebeom rushed. “What happened?”

Bambam looked back over to him. His eyebrows knitted together in agitation. “You don’t remember?”

Jaebeom felt his skin get hot. “Bam?” he warned.

The boy scoffed. “I came in last night and you made a whole mess, so I cleaned it up while you watched,” he started to sit up. “Which I’ll remind you is very rude.” He cracked his neck. “And then, you turned into a whiny baby. Started begging me to sleep with you.”

Jaebeom’s eyes went wide. “We slept together,” he said, not really like a question. And he looked Bambam up and down. And sure, the boy wasn’t usually his type but-

“Not like that, weirdo,” Bam scoffed.

“Then, why don’t we have shirts on?”

“Cause baby hyung was whining and said no shirts allowed. You ripped mine trying to take it off. And it was Gucci, hyung. Gucci!” he threw out his arms.

Jaebeom rubbed his face, feeling the throbbing in his head. “I’m sorry, Bammie,” he groaned. “I’ll replace it.”

“You better believe you will,” Bam sighed. He threw the covers off of him, getting up and going to the bathroom.

Jaebeom breathed a sigh of relief. He found a shirt on the floor and kicked it up with his foot, grabbing it and pulling it on. And he stopped when he noticed the fit was kind of tight around his chest and arms. He looked down, getting a whiff of a recognizable scent. And he realized it was Jinyoung’s. His head rushed as he remembered Jinyoung putting his clothes back on, just to get sent away again. He must have grabbed Jaebeom’s shirt by mistake. And the memory only brought a sinking feeling in his chest that he didn’t feel like he could shake. So, he kept the shirt on, going out to the kitchen. He opened the door to the fridge, peering inside to see that none of its contents were familiar.

“Bam,” he called over his shoulder. “What is all this stuff?”

Bambam appeared behind him, leaning into the doorway of the kitchen raking a toothbrush over his teeth. “It’s food,” he said, mouth full. “Remember food?”

Jaebeom glared at him. “Where are my things? My drinks?”

Bam shrugged, brushing his tongue for a moment before speaking. “I dumped them last night.” He turned back, heading towards the bathroom.

“You WHAT?” Jaebeom’s eyes went wide. His chest tightened in that shirt. He turned away, letting the fridge door close behind him and following the boy. “Bam. Those were my things! You can’t just throw away my-” he groaned, hands rubbing against his face. 

Bambam spit out the toothpaste in the bathroom sink, taking his time as he rinsed his mouth with water. He turned back towards Jaebeom, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “Why did you invite me over, hyung?”

And Jaebeom was immediately regretting going through that trash can and fishing out Bambam’s number. Because the last thing he wanted to do was have to explain himself. He let go of a breath, his shoulders dropping.

Bambam’s eyes drilled into him as leaned up against the counter. Waiting.

Jaebeom was feeling that throbbing in his head again. The stinging of his eyes. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not getting it now, am I?” Bam hummed. 

Jaebeom sighed. “Not now.”

Bam shrugged, bypassing him in the doorway and Jaebeom followed. He came back out to the kitchen, opening the fridge and starting to pull things out. “I’ll cook breakfast,” Bam offered.

“You can cook?”

“When I need to,” Bam narrowed his eyes at him. He took out some eggs, vegetables, and bread, putting it onto the counter.

Jaebeom stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. Not knowing why Bambam was there either but feeling slightly comforted by the way he was taking up space. By the way that Jaebeom didn’t feel so goddamn alone.

The boy opened a few drawers, finding a cutting board and a knife. He started chopping vegetables. But it was messy and his long fingers were in the way too much. Pieces too big to cook down well in the eggs.

Jaebeom sighed. “You’re doing it wrong,” he chastised. “Gimme that.” He shooed the boy away as he grabbed the knife from him, starting to make more precise cuts. “Get the bread toasted while I do this. There’s a pan in that cabinet.”

Bambam scoffed but complied. Getting the pan and stirring in some butter to toast the bread over the stove as Jaebeom continued to cut.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Bam asked, as the bread sizzled lightly.

“My grandmother taught me.”

“Do you visit her often?”

“Can’t,” he shrugged. “She’s dead.”

Bam was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be,” he grimaced at the show of sympathy. “It happens to everyone.”

Bam was quiet for a while, finishing his job and hopping up onto the counter. 

Jaebeom started cooking the eggs, cracking them into the pan and letting them sizzle. Throwing the vegetables on top.

“Chuseok is this week,” the boy offered. “When are you going home?”

“I’m not,” Jaebeom shook his head.

“Why not? You’re Korean.”

Jaebeom sighed. Not liking where the conversation was going. “My mom and I don’t talk much.”

“But she’s your mom,” Bam grimaced. “And your grandmother? Don’t you want to pay your respects?”

Jaebeom glared. “Bammie,” he quieted him.

Bambam didn’t seem content with his answer, but he didn’t press him anymore. “Fine,” he sighed. “Where are the plates? I’ll set the table.”

\---

Jaebeom tried to escape to buy drinks. Making an excuse that he had things to do. But Bambam pressed to tag along anyway, stating that he had his own errands to run. They got dressed, going out to the street. The wind whisking around them, jumbling the neat piles of swept leaves that had started collecting as the trees changed for autumn. 

“Let’s do my errand first,” Bam chimed, hailing a taxi for them with a flick of his elegant wrist.

And Jaebeom sighed, thinking only about how badly he needed a drink to relieve his headache and fatigue. He got into the car, leaning up against the window and rubbing his temple.

Bambam looked over. “Something wrong, hyung?”

Jaebeom shook it off. “Just a headache.”

“Here,” Bambam fished through his leather pouch, finding some pain relievers and going to drop them in Jaebeom’s hand.

Jaebeom looked at them before shaking his head, refusing them. “I’m fine,” he said. And it was probably more paranoia than anything but the idea of feeling pills between his teeth, even innocuous ones, made his stomach churn.

They drove for a few minutes, into the next district over. Pulling off into a small neighborhood.

They stopped, getting out. “Where are we?” Jaebeom looked up and down the small alleyway.

“I’ll show you come on,” Bambam beckoned, walking down a small set of stairs leading near the half underground unit of a building. He twisted the door open, bounding inside loudly. “I brought a friend,” he singsonged.

Jaebeom ducked inside behind him, looking around. The space was dark with only a few half windows along the top border to draw in light. Jaebeom adjusting his vision. It seemed like a small one room apartment, but the kitchen and bedroom were absent. Instead, a large desk was centered in the room. A collection of computer monitors and a large soundboard extended across it. A set of chairs in front of the desk while a small couch sat opposite. One of the chairs occupied.

Yugyeom swiveled around to face them. His eyes drawing up to Jaebeom and immediately going wide. “Hyung,” he gawked.

Jaebeom gave him a tight smile. Thinking he should have known that Bambam would try and drag him along on a playdate. “Hey, Yugyeom,” he waved. “How are you?”

Yugyeom seemed a little struck by his presence. “What are you doing here, hyung?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “This kid dragged me along,” he beckoned to Bambam who was sitting on the couch with a smug smile on his face. Jaebeom looked to the monitors on the desk. “What are you working on?”

“Ehhh,” Yugyeom hesitated. His hand going behind his head to feel at his reddening neck. “Nothing really. Just messing around. You know. Playing with some tracks.”

Jaebeom hadn’t known that Yugyeom made music at all. He only knew about his success as a dancer. But the way he was getting jumpy and flushed made Jaebeom increasingly curious as to what he was making. He smirked. “Can I hear it?”

Yugyeom’s face went stale as the redness moved up into his ears. He licked his lips. “Yeah,” his voice cracked. “Just… it’s not done. It’s just… here.” He pulled out the other chair from behind the soundboard for him to sit.

Jaebeom sat. Watching Yugyeom’s fingers move shakily over the keyboard as he pulled up the track, hesitating a moment before pressing play.

The music filled the small studio and Jaebeom listened. Hearing the dark tones, syncopated beats. The cut of Yugyeom’s unique voice. Bright despite the richness of the track. He hadn’t listened to music in many weeks and he was remembering how it felt to hear the parts weave in and out of each other. The way he unconsciously started bobbing his head along with the beat. He let the track play out till it’s end. He looked over to Yugyeom.

His eyes were wide. Waiting. “Be honest,” he said, voice nervous.

Jaebeom felt a corner of his mouth pull up. “It’s not bad,” he shrugged. He moved a hand through his long hair, before nodding. “But I think we can make it better.” He scooched closer to Yugyeom, staring into the screen. “This part here,” he pointed. “Flip these two tracks. So, this one is a little more forward.”

Yugyeom complied, his mouth slightly open as he fumbled around with it.

“And then that bridge part, the last part,” Jaebeom said. “I think it you could add some cool harmonies on it. Something kinda minor. To go with it all.”

“Yeah?” Yugyeom nodded along.

“Yeah, play it real quick.”

Yugyeom moved the cursor along, scrolling towards the end. Playing it and looking over to Jaebeom.

“Yeah, yeah, here,” he called. And he started pitching a few harmonies. High and clashing in a way that the song was.

Yugyeom started following along, nodding to the beat. He stopped it. “Okay,” he got up. “Let’s do it.”

So Yugyeom went to his makeshift booth, pulling the microphone close and rehearsing the harmony over and over.

Jaebeom slid over behind the computer, looking up to wait for Yugyeom’s signal to start recording.

They added the harmonies. And a few background instruments to round out the sound. And Jaebeom showed him a few mixing techniques that he’d picked up from long days in the studio, watching behind producers’ shoulders. And Bambam sat in the background, watching and flicking through a few stray magazines on the coffee table. And before they knew it, the light from the half windows that lined the room had started to die down.

“It sounds really good, Yugyeom,” Jaebeom looked at him earnestly as they ran through it a final time. “What are you going to do with it?”

Yugyeom shrugged, getting shy again. “I don’t know, hyung,” he smiled. “I’m just having fun.” 

And Jaebeom distantly wondered if that was ever him. Making music just to have fun. Not to please executives or sell records or brand a concept. Maybe this had been the first time that there had been nothing more to it than making something worth listening to.

“Thanks a lot, hyung,” Yugyeom smiled. His round cheeks glinting. “This was really great.”

Jaebeom nodded. “No problem.”

“Dinner?” Bambam suggested from his place on the couch.

Jaebeom looked to Yugyeom, whose eyes seemed to beg the same question silently. He felt the smile break on his face. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They found a barbeque place up the road. Taking a seat at a table and calling over a waiter.

“Do you want drinks?” Jaebeom asked the two of them, scratching behind his ear.

And Bambam didn’t even hesitate. “Nah,” he waved him away. “We’re okay.” And he looked over to Yugyeom.

“Yeah, hyung,” Yugyeom shrugged. “We don’t need them.”

And Jaebeom had an idea of what they were getting at, but he didn’t complain. He just ordered more than enough food for the whole table and watched as Yugyeom and Bambam came alive with each other. Their contagious laughs and young energy brushing up against Jaebeom and infecting him too. Losing count of the number of times he almost choked on his big bites from their antics.

When dinner was done, Jaebeom paid for the table, hearing a symphony of “thanks, hyung” in return.

“Let’s go back to the main road and grab a taxi,” Bambam told Jaebeom as they were leaving. He looked behind him, waving wide to his friend. “I’ll see you later, Yugyeom.”

“Hold up for a minute, Bam,” Jaebeom noted, backing himself up before turning to jog back up to the doors of the restaurant. “Yugyeom,” he called, keeping his voice low, even with Bam out of ear shot. “If you wanna do that again sometime. You know, work on tracks. Call me, okay?”

And Yugyeom’s eyes widened before a wide smile broke across his face. “Okay, hyung. I will.”

Jaebeom nodded before jogging back to catch up to Bambam.

\---

When they got home, Jaebeom immediately went to take a shower. And as the cool water ran over him, he noticed. He was humming to himself. And that alone felt so unfamiliar that it had him reflecting on his day. It had been the first time since the end of the tour that he’d left his house to be social. And without any drugs or alcohol, it was almost hard to think that it was him who had been capable of doing that. And what was perhaps the strangest part was how good it felt. Even without anything altering his mental state. Even without Youngjae or Jinyoung. But at the thought, it felt like it came crashing downward. His heart immediately sinking in his chest. Making him feel guilty. Missing them instantly.

He shook it off, ending his shower and changing into his pajamas. Realizing that he’d grabbed Jinyoung’s shirt again when he pulled it over his head and felt that warmth spread over him at the scent and the fit. As if he could feel Jinyoung’s tight body through the fabric. Something inside of him aching. He came out of the bathroom, tousling a towel through his damp hair. But when he stepped back into his bedroom, he became aware that he wasn’t alone. Bambam was there. And he was sitting on the floor, sharp legs criss crossed at awkward angles. His face serious as he looked over something in his hands.

And next to him, Jaebeom saw a box. Big and cardboard. And across the front of it, in permanent marker, the word ’photos’ stared back.

Jaebeom felt his stomach somersault. The cooling sensation of the water suddenly replaced with frantic heat. “What are you doing?” he rushed to say. His voice immediately venomous.

Bambam looked up. His eyes going wide at Jaebeom’s reaction. Knowing immediately what was wrong. “I saw it in your closet. It said photos,” he rushed to say. “I thought it meant from your career. I just wanted to see if you had any of mine.” The few things he was holding in his hands fell away to the floor.

Jaebeom stepped up to him, crouching down. He gritted his teeth. “What did I tell you about meddling?”

“I know,” Bam’s voice shook. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…” he sighed. Hesitating. “Is this really you?” He picked up a photo he’d been looking at, turning it towards him.

Jaebeom looked to it. There he was. Not much older than seven or eight. His neat school uniform juxtaposed against the barren background from outside his childhood home. All tall grass and endless landscapes behind him. His smile wide and glowing. Eyes little crescents above his cheeks. Almost unrecognizable. Not because of the way he looked but because of how happy was. And Jaebeom tried to think back. It must have been his first day of school. His grandmother must have taken this one.

He reached out, holding it closer to inspect. The moisture of his fingers feeling tacky against the film. “Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s really me.”

“Wow,” Bambam exhaled, he shuffled through more of them in his hands. “These are crazy. You should really post these for fans or something. They would love to see it.”

Jaebeom grimaced, shaking his head. “It’s not for them,” he said, passing the photos back. “They have enough of me. I can keep this part to myself.”

“What’s this?” Bambam was distracted, pulling out an old book out of the box. The white leather-bound cover grayed with dust. Gold stitching lining the spine. 

Jaebeom felt a smile pull at his face. The memory flooding back. “That’s my grandmother’s cookbook,” he said. “Every family recipe she kept catalogued in there.”

Bambam cracked open the stiff spine, looking through the handwritten pages. “Why don’t you have it out?” he asked. “In the kitchen or something so you can cook from it?”

“Because,” Jaebeom reached his finger up, tapping his temple. “They are all in here.”

Bambam huffed a laugh as he turned through the pages. Looking over the recipes and reading through them silently. He turned another page and Jaebeom’s ears perked at the sound of paper against paper. But not just the sound of the page turning. Something else.

Jaebeom looked over, seeing next to Bam’s knee, a white envelope on the floor.

Bambam’s eyes seemed to follow. “It just slipped out,” he rushed to say, again anticipating Jaebeom’s anger.

But Jaebeom wasn’t angry this time. He furrowed his brows, reaching over. He picked it up, feeling it in his hands. The paper soft and worn with age. Sealed across the back. He flipped it over, reading the front. _Jaebeom._ The handwriting was unmistakable. Neat and crisp and precise. His grandmother’s.

His mind rushed. Unable to understand. Why hadn’t he ever seen this before? How did it stay sealed for so long? “Bammie,” he asked. His voice soft and his eyes not leaving the envelope. “Can you give me a minute?”

Bambam seemed to understand. He nodded, rousing to his feet and leaving the room, shutting the door on his way out.

Jaebeom blinked, his heart suddenly alive and beating too prominently in his chest. He sat himself down on the floor, carefully digging a fingernail under the seal. Feeling like it was a sacred artifact that he was afraid to ruin. He looked inside, seeing a piece of paper folded. He pulled it out, smoothing it in his lap. And upon the page he saw more of that crisp handwriting staring back at him. He took a deep breath. Not sure what was coming but feeling the need to prepare himself for it.

_Dear Jaebeom,_

_I’ve been told by the doctors that I don’t have much longer. And as I prepare to leave, there were some things that I wanted you to hear. I’m not sure when you’ll find this. And I’m not sure these words will mean much by the time they reach you, but I hope in the coming years, you can reflect on what I have written here and that it will provide some recompense for the happiness you were able to give me in the final season of my life._

_I hope you understand by now that your mother was never meant to be a mother. And that’s okay. Not every woman is. Even when she was hard on you. Even when she seemed selfish or disinterested. Please know that it was never your fault. She was doing the best she could with the circumstances she was given. It’s unfortunate that you had to bear the weight of her shortcomings but know that there was nothing you could have done to stop that. And regardless of the personal struggles that motherhood brought her, know that you enriched her life just like you enriched mine._

_But that being said, I hope that you recognize that there is more out there. There is a whole world waiting for you. You are a remarkable boy. Caring, humble, hardworking, and, above all, loving. You have so much love in you, Jaebeom. And it pours out like blood from a wound. Without fear and without conditions and without prompting. And I’ve seen how empty you feel when you give love so freely that you cannot always accept it in return._

_You love so fiercely that there have been times that your mother and I have feared for you. Feared that you might be exploited for that love. Feared that you may be left feeling nothing without it. Because it’s far too big for this small town. Far too bold for you mother to quell. Far too selfless to give so unconditionally. And to protect yourself, you must remember that love isn’t always about giving but also receiving._

_My father used to tell me, “Being deeply loved gives you strength. Loving deeply gives you courage.” I hope you stay courageous, no matter what. I hope you remain that boy who loves without fear. But more than that, I hope you find the people who give you strength through love. Who never allow you to feel empty. Who balance out the highs and lows of your character and make you feel complete. I hope you find the people worth giving love to. And when you do, don’t let them go. Because, take it from a dying woman, life is too short to not accept love. And when you do, I know you will turn from a remarkable boy to an exceptional man._

_Always in your heart,  
Your Grandmother_

Jaebeom’s chest felt tight and it wasn’t just Jinyoung’s shirt. He blinked, reading it again. Taking in every word. And it felt surreal, the way he could hear his grandmother’s voice in it. As if she was right there, telling him. Telling him what? What would she say?

Jaebeom felt his skin rush. He picked himself up. He came out to the living room. 

Bambam was sitting on the couch, looking up at him with wide curious eyes.

Jaebeom swallowed. “We need to find Youngjae,” he said, firmly.

Bambam jumped to his feet. “Finally,” he cheered, throwing his arms up.

Jaebeom’s head swam. “What do you mean, finally?”

“Nothing,” Bambam pulled his arms down, suddenly self-conscious.

Jaebeom sighed. “The problem is,” he started to pace. “We don’t know where he is.”

Bambam shrugged. “I know where he is,” he said simply. Nonchalantly.

And something in Jaebeom flipped and he stopped, staring at Bambam with narrow eyes. “What?” he hissed out.

And Bam leaned away from him in defense.

Jaebeom shook his head. “How?”

“We exchanged numbers once at the airport,” Bam rushed to say. His shoulders coming up in innocence. “He’s been updating me on his travels.”

Jaebeom started to pace, running his fingers through his hair. Breathes seething out of him. Feeling overwhelmed. He took a moment. Wondering if he even should know. But he thought back to those words his grandmother had written. About the strength he needed. So, he mustered up all that he had. “Tell me.”

Bam was quiet for a moment. Maybe savoring it. Maybe scared of Jaebeom’s reaction. “He’s in Japan,” he finally choked out. “He’s in this farming village a few hours from Tokyo.”

Jaebeom took a moment. His breathes calming back down. But his chest still tight. Thinking of Youngjae’s bright eyes and cool hands and how he would give anything to be with him in the moment.

He turned onto his heel. Swiftly, going back into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Bambam got up quickly, following him.

“Packing,” Jaebeom said firmly.

And Bambam didn’t speak. For so long that it was suspicious. 

So Jaebeom flicked his eyes over to his place in the doorway. He saw how the boy was leaning into the threshold, his smile wide and sly. 

Jaebeom scoffed, going to pull open his closet, “Shut up and get going. We are leaving in ten minutes.”

“Hyung,” Bambam called.

Jaebeom looked back at him.

The boy tapped his fingers along the wall, shy. “Maybe on the way there you could tell me what happened? You know. With them.”

Jaebeom paused for a moment, before nodding. Voice coming out soft. “I’ll explain,” he nodded. “On the way there.”

\---

Jaebeom followed through. He told Bambam the whole story as they made their way to the airport, buying tickets at the airline desk, and catching the first flight out to Tokyo. By the time Jaebeom had caught Bam up, they were arriving. The sun was coming up and they were both feeling exhausted. Even in the dead of night, word must have traveled that Jaebeom was on the move because when they stepped out of the terminal, cameras were waiting for them. Jaebeom kept his head low, looking down from their lenses and making sure Bambam was falling into step behind him. And it was surreal to think that just a few months ago, he’d been stumbling through this same airport with a hospital bracelet still on his wrist and chemicals still circulating around his blood. Perfectly ignorant to what awaited him on that world tour.

The train ride from Tokyo was five hours long. And Bam had drifted off to sleep while Jaebeom couldn’t. Feeling too anxious and picturing Youngjae’s face again and again. Becoming equal amounts excited and nervous as he couldn’t anticipate what the boy’s expression would hold. Anger? Hurt? Or something else? Something more like that wonder that Jaebeom fell in love with. Not knowing made him feel overwhelmed and on edge.

He tried to distract himself, looking out the windows as the countryside passed by. Sloping mountains that overpowered the hills of Korea with their height and grandiose. Circling above them, rain clouds were spread thin, casting gray shadows onto the endless fields that were dotted with workers. Living small lives with small problems that made Jaebeom feel slightly jealous.

When they finally arrived in the small village, it was nothing like they expected. Only a few dozen traditional farmhouses packed into a valley between two mountains. A rushing gorge moving through the village, centering the lives of those in it. The rain leaving the ground slightly muddy and soft as they arrived. People hiding under overhangs in front of food stands to keep out of the rain, chatting passively.

“What now?” Bambam asked, uselessly shielding his hair from the rain.

Jaebeom looked around. He readjusted his backpack. Water going into his eyes. “I guess we just start asking people.”

“How’s your Japanese?” Bambam huffed.

Jaebeom hissed through his teeth, slightly sarcastic. “I don’t think they’ll respond well to ‘I love you’ or ‘make some noise’.”

Jaebeom tried to grab the attention of an older man who was sitting outside a shop, cleaning his farming supplies with an old, oiled rag. And a young girl who was eating from her lunch box under a bright yellow umbrella. But both of them looked at him with wide eyes and blank faces, like he was an alien from another planet. Shook their heads. Unhelpful.

He was losing hope when he spotted a woman walking from the store with two bags under her arms. “Excuse me, ma’am?” he called after her.

She stopped. Looking up. Same wide eyes as the others.

Jaebeom was doubtful but he pushed through. “I’m looking for… a boy, a man,” Jaebeom fumbled through in his best Japanese. “Korean man.”

She blinked. Seemingly apprehensive of him.

“Black hair, nice smile,” he described, pointing to his wet hair and stretching his mouth wide to show.

The woman narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Not understanding.

“He… makes art,” he motioned. “Painting.” He moved an imaginary brush in the air. Pinky extended.

The woman was still for a moment more before standing up straighter. “Ahhh,” she nodded. “Yes. There.” She pointed down the road.

Jaebeom’s eyes followed.

“Last house. There,” she motioned. “Red gate.”

Jaebeom nodded, bowing towards her. “Thank you very much,” he said, smiling. He turned back towards Bam. “Come on” he started down the quiet road.

When they reached the end, they stood in front of the house with the red gate. Looking at the traditional construction. The way the thatched roof leaned together like praying hands. Listening to the sound of the light rain touching every surface like a sizzle.

Bambam looked at him. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course, I am,” he furrowed his brows. “I don’t know where his head is at. What if he hates me?”

“Why would he hate you?”

“Cause I shut him out. Sent him home. Outcast him just like his birth family did,” he explained, harkening back to telling Bambam everything on the plane ride.

“You think too much, hyung,” Bam scoffed. “Go talk to him.” He pointed a thumb behind him. “When you’re ready, I’ll be across the street at the izakaya.” He started to walk away.

“Hey,” Jaebeom called, causing Bam to stop in his tracks. Mud squelching under his shoes. “Whatever happens,” he licked his lips. “Thank you for helping me do this. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t.”

Bam smiled. “You deserve love, hyung,” he nodded. “And not just from fans.”

And the words felt reminiscent of those in his grandmother’s letter. Which had Jaebeom nodding and shooting him a look of gratitude before he turned away.

Jaebeom walked up to the front of the house. Noticing how the front entrance was slid open. More inviting than it should have seemed. And without really even thinking about it, he took off his shoes and walked through the entrance, feeling the bamboo floors under his bare feet. The door of all the rooms were slid open in a zigzag fashion so that he could weave through them with slow, cautious steps. As he moved forward through the house, he started to feel the breeze coming in from outside, a slightly chilly dampness permeating his already wet clothes and hair. And he could smell the wet trees. Hear the water distantly rushing through the gorge. The call of birds guiding their loved ones home in the rain.

When he walked into the final room, he saw how the doors had been opened so that the deck stretched out over the valley. In the distance, the two mountains rose around the deep gorge, pops of red and yellow leaves breaking up the green lushness. Between them a bright red bridge spanned the distance. The colors slightly dulled by the gray of the rain, yet he could see the way the raindrops fluttered the leaves so much that they looked alive and moving. But to Jaebeom, the view didn’t compare to the most beautiful thing in the room.

Youngjae was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away. His black hair swirled in a soft circle, overlooking the deck. His thighs coated in silk navy pajama pants. On top, a matching robe hung open, a mix of florals. Navy and cream and coral. And the way it was precariously hanging exposed his bare shoulders, letting them glint milky white in the reflection of the gray green landscape. The ties snaked across the floor behind him, as if he’d thrown it on and forgot about it. In front of him, there was a small easel. And from where he stood, Jaebeom could see over his bare shoulder. The scene of the reds and oranges and greens and gray skies blended together. Youngjae’s hand holding out a brush and letting it feather small strokes into a cluster of bright red trees.

Youngjae didn’t stop adding strokes, but he called out something, his close voice contrasting over the vast sounds of landscape. Something in quick, in Japanese.

Jaebeom froze. Recognizing the sound of his voice and how even in an unfamiliar language, it soothed him. He took a deep breath, feeling the beating of his heart against the inside of his chest. “Sorry,” he responded in the same language. “My Japanese is not very good.”

It hit off the remaining walls and doors just enough to be heard. Just enough so that he saw the way Youngjae’s ears seemed to perk. Saw the way his brush stopped, hovering over the canvas. Saw the way his hand shook, almost imperceptibly. He watched as he put the brush down against the easel, the clack of the wood on wood echoing. The boy turned slowly. Looking back to where Jaebeom was standing.

His eyes were wide and unblinking. Round and open like they’d been when Jaebeom took that sketchbook out of his hands and let himself be marked in more than just charcoal. His mouth small. His bare chest just as milky as his shoulders. And he looked as beautiful as ever. Outshining the scenery. 

And Jaebeom felt himself choking up immediately. “Hey,” he said, softly. Barely whispering. He blinked. Once, twice. Each time, his eyes getting blurrier and blurrier. “I was looking for you.” He sniffed, feeling the tears coming through anyway.

Youngjae’s chest rose, and then he did too, rousing himself to his feet and facing Jaebeom. Not letting go of that breath in his chest. His cheek twinging ever so slightly up towards his eye. 

And the moment stretched out. Them watching each other like this. Unable to breath or speak or move.

But then Youngjae was rushing forward in three quick steps. His arms reaching out and pulling Jaebeom in.

Jaebeom jolted with surprise, feeling the press of the boy against his chest. Forcing that breath out of him in a forceful heave of air that only made the tears spring further forward in his eyes. And as soon as he realized what was happening, he instinctually slid his arms around Youngjae’s hips, under the robe, feeling the softness of his skin. And his head immediately fell to the boy’s shoulder. Feeling the weight of everything fall away. Feeling so small in his arms. And that was all it took for him to break, sobbing into him.

Youngjae smoothed his palms over his shoulder blades. “You’re okay,” he whispered, his throat coated. “I’m here.”

And Jaebeom could feel his cool hands through his clothes, calming him like they always did. And he knew that Youngjae was right. He knew he was safe. His throat choked as he sobbed, stuttering when he tried to speak. “I missed you so much,” he cried, angling his head into the crook of the boy’s neck and feeling himself soak the skin there with salt.

Youngjae nodded, pressing his cheek into Jaebeom’s hair. “I know,” he hushed. “I know you did.”

And Jaebeom cried like that, letting Youngjae hold him as he calmed down. Until his chest was just an empty rattling shell trying to breathe again.

Youngjae put a hand to his cheek, raising him up until they were looking at each other again.

Jaebeom felt himself aching at the coolness of it. The hole inside of him reaching out.

“You’re so wet and cold,” he noted, fingers sweeping across his forehead to push his damp hair away. “Let me make you some tea.”

Jaebeom swallowed down his coated throat. “Okay.”

“Sit,” Youngjae beckoned as he pulled away, floating to the next room with his robe flowing behind him.

Jaebeom sat on the floor, looking out over the view. Listening to the pitter-patter of the rain against the leaves. Looking at the painting Youngjae had been working on and seeing the way they mirrored each other.

When Youngjae came back, he had a pot and two cups on a tray. He kneeled down, setting it between them and picking up the pot to pour.

Jaebeom licked his lips. “You’re painting now?” he beckoned towards the canvas just beyond Youngjae. “What happened to drawing?”

Youngjae concentrated on pouring, not looking up. “Everything feels a bit too blended lately,” he said slowly. “It’s not so black and white anymore.”

And Jaebeom felt it hit him, maybe harder than it should have. Because he knew it to be true. But also, because it made it sound like Youngjae’s mind was unsettled. And Jaebeom didn’t know what that meant for him.

Youngjae offered him a cup.

Jaebeom reached out, their fingers brushing in the middle, sending a tremor up his arm. He tried to ground himself in the warmth that radiated through the ceramic. Bringing it close to his face and breathing in the steam.

“How’d you find me?” Youngjae said, grabbing his cup as well.

“That’s was your mistake. You told the biggest mouth in my circle where you were,” Jaebeom shrugged.

Youngjae thought for a moment before it seemed to click. “Is Bam here?”

Jaebeom beckoned behind him. “He’s across the road.”

“I should let him in,” Youngjae tried to stand.

“No, wait,” Jaebeom reached out, grabbing his wrist and stilling him. “Let’s just talk first.”

And Youngjae paused before he sat down again. His face as unsettled as his words had been.

Jaebeom pulled his hand back, wrapping it back around his cup. He wanted to take a sip, just to busy himself, but he knew it would burn him. So he had no choice but to fill the silence with words. “Why have you been out here, Youngjae?”

The boy sighed. Looking down into his cup. Nails rapping against the side of the ceramic, causing faint chimes to echo outwards from it. “I just needed some time away. From all of it.”

“From Jinyoung?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It was just a bit too much. Too tense.”

Jaebeom looked down into his tea. “I saw him.”

“Let me guess,” Youngjae took a sip. And if it was too hot, he didn’t show it. “It ended in a fight.”

Jaebeom sighed. “We’re that obvious, aren’t we?”

Youngjae huffed. “You’re both like that.”

Jaebeom licked his lips. “He told me you left.”

Youngjae’s brows furrowed. “I suppose it was a bit selfish,” he shrugged. “Walking out like that. After you’d done the same.”

Jaebeom thought back to the look on Jinyoung’s face when he told him Youngjae had gone. The way his shoulders curved inward. Trying not to show how much he hurt. “Maybe,” he said softly.

“But he’s still an asshole,” Youngjae sipped his tea again.

Jaebeom felt himself smile a little. Feeling the question he’d wanted to know for too long push through his lips. “How’d that even happen? You two?”

Youngjae put his cup down. He was still for a moment. But then, his hands started to fiddle with one of the ends of the robe.

And Jaebeom felt his stomach flutter, knowing the story that was coming.

Youngjae licked his lips, starting. “I met him when I first came to Seoul to start art school. He was just a psych student then. He was lucky. His family had money. So, he lived in this super nice two-bedroom apartment all by himself. Made an office out of the other room. And he didn’t really know how to say it, but he was lonely. He wanted someone around. So he cleared out his office and tried a few different roommates. But they never worked out because … well, you know how he can be. Cold and hard to read. Ruthless when he’s angry. Wearing people down until they’re screaming and breaking things and walking out.”

And the truth of it had Jaebeom taking in a quick breath. Thinking back to their fight in Seoul. To soju soaking his feet.

Youngjae scrunched his nose. “I should have known the rent was too good to be true,” he smiled a little. “I responded to his ad and he interviewed me in some café. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. His face was so …apathetic. But his eyes. They did this thing. Where they got …I don’t know. Kinda sparkly? Like stars? You know what I mean?”

Jaebeom felt his chest ache. “I know,” he said, surely. 

Youngjae blinked, refocusing. “So, I started living there. And he’d come home from his classes and I’d have the TV on the floor cause I needed the stand for some sculpture. Or the kitchen sink would be full of brushes and cloudy cups of diluted paint. And he just kinda… put up with it. I don’t know why.”

Jaebeom looked at him. The pieces coming together. “Because you were different. And he knew that,” he felt the flutter in his chest. Imagining the scene. Feeling like he’d give anything to be able to fill that space with them. 

“I guess,” Youngjae rolled his eyes, smiling. He tucked a hair behind his ear. “Whatever it was, it started getting routine. Until he’d come into my room every night and lay in my bed, just to watch me work. Listen to me ramble about problems I was having with my projects. And I guess one night. I just-” Youngjae licked his lips. “I don’t know. It just happened. And it felt right. So, it just kept happening.” He breathed. “And we didn’t really address it. Cause you know how he is with talking about those kinds of things.”

Something in Youngjae changed. That brightness in his eyes dulling slightly under a sheen. And Jaebeom recognized the look, knowing instantly what was coming up next.

“He’s the one who found me that night,” Youngjae said quietly. “I’ll never forget how he looked. Serious and stoic. Not scared. He was never scared of that kind of thing. Because he too harbored his own version of darkness. Not from his past. Not from anything really. It was just something he carried around in him. Hell, maybe that’s why he got into psychology in the first place. Trying to find words and reasons for the way he was. But I don’t think he ever found them.” Youngjae paused, thinking back to the story. “He called the paramedics. And he held me in his lap and gripped my wrists as hard as his hands would let him. And I looked at him and I thought ‘if this is gonna be it, if this is gonna be the end of everything, he may as well know.’ So, I told him I loved him. And maybe he thought it was the end too, because he said it back. But when I woke up, with my wrists sewn back up, he was still there. He was always there.”

“In the spring, I finally graduated and he finished his residency. And the night we celebrated, we must have been a little drunk because we were lying on the living room floor in that same apartment and he leaned over and said he couldn’t imagine life without me. And I said if that’s how he felt then he should marry me. And he just kind of agreed. And the next week, we were at the courthouse. No friends, no family. Just us. Because we thought it would always be just us. But we were wrong.”

Jaebeom felt nerves flood him. His grip on his cup tightening.

“I don’t think either of us thought we’d meet you,” Youngjae looked up at him. “We didn’t think there was anything missing. We were living in this little country house in the mountains. I was working on some art projects and he was working at that facility. It was all going smoothly. As expected.” He took a deep breath. “I remember him coming home that day after meeting you. It was like something had shaken him. And I could tell and I was trying to get it out of him but you know how he is. He didn’t want to say it.”

“It was another week before he finally brought it up. We had this porch swing that we’d sit on every night as the sun set just enough to cool the summer air off. He was reading and I was sketching. And he put his book down and said he felt something. For someone. That he didn’t know what to do about it. And it was a little scary,” Youngjae huffed. “I’ve never been traditional, but him saying that he was counseling some idol? That he was feeling something for him? Obviously, I was a little alarmed.”

“I said let’s wait and see. Cause what else could I say? But when Mark asked Jinyoung about recommending a sober companion, he didn’t hesitate. He named me immediately. Didn’t even tell me until Mark had already bought our plane tickets to Berlin. Ending our lease on the house in the country.” He shook his head, looking down into his hands. “I wasn’t enthused. I mean I’ve never been one to worship celebrities. They are just people after all. Not nearly as impressive as people say they are.” He looked back up to him. “But Jinyoung said you were special. And I trusted him. So, I went to Berlin and I met you. And you were handsome, sure. But as I got to know you, there was something else there. Something harder to see.”

Jaebeom felt himself growing warm.

“Jinyoung tried to warn me. He said not to let myself get too involved. Because he knew that the more real it got, the harder it would be to tell you. And part of me knew he was right, but the other part just… wanted you. More than anything. And you were so easy to fall into. It felt too good, too right. When Jinyoung found out, he wasn’t happy about it. But he couldn’t help but see how you were falling for me too. Watching the way we were at that dinner in Madrid. Or the way you touched me on the flight to Toronto. And that made him just fall more in love too. Until he couldn’t take it anymore either.”

“We had to get real with ourselves though. We were talking about it often. Seeing each other during the shows or texting when you were around. Trying to imagine how it would go down. How we’d tell you. But nothing could have prepared us for Jackson’s surprise. And as soon as you brought us into that hotel room together, we knew it was over. We knew we’d lost you.”

Jaebeom thought back to the way the two had kissed in front of him. The memory a mix of vicious and beautiful in his head. Worn in places from the amount of times he’d played it back. But he realized that that wasn’t them anymore. They were past that. His ached around the edges. “It tore you two apart,” he whispered.

“Of course, it did,” Youngjae furrowed his brows. “We were heart broken. You were gone and as much as we tried, it wasn’t the same. It could never be the same.” His eyes getting glossy, again. “In all the years we had known each other, we had never fought like that.” He sighed. “So, I packed my bag and I said I needed a break. Needed to think about things. Figure out if just me and him could ever work together again without you there.”

“And?” Jaebeom felt a tremor of uncertainty crawl up his spine.

“And it can’t,” Youngjae shook his head. “We need you.”

Jaebeom felt everything in him ache. Desperate and whining on the inside. Wanting nothing more than to reach out in every way possible. Feeling like those tears could well up again if he willed them too.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” Youngjae swallowed, casting his eyes downwards into his cup. “Because we fucked it up. And we can’t just say it’s because we loved you and act like that’s reason enough.”

Jaebeom was silent. Suddenly seeing the root of all that unsettlement in Youngjae. That he didn’t think what they did was so easily forgivable. Not like Jinyoung did. And Jaebeom had to think for a moment. Ask himself if he had forgiven them or if he was still nursing that wound. But immediately his mind went back to that letter he’d read with shaky hands.

_And when you do, don’t let them go. Because, take it from a dying woman, life is too short to not accept love._

Youngjae licked his lips. He put the cup back on the tray, pulling his hands back. He took a breath. “Why are you here, Jaebeom?” he asked.

Jaebeom looked at Youngjae. His robe hanging off his shoulder. His hands in his lap, scars facing up so that the grey light met all the rises and falls of them. The mix of gleaming silver and shadows. And it felt so Youngjae that it had Jaebeom aching. 

Latently, his mind processed the question. And he felt his throat getting dry. His shoulders drawing together. At the crushing realization that the answer held so much power. Over him and Youngjae and Jinyoung too. And that weight felt unstable in his hands. Why was it being put in his hands?

So, he hesitated. Because even if he’d had eight hours of travel on the way here, he still didn’t know the answer. He looked down to his tea, noticing how it had cooled in his hand. Still untouched. He knocked it back like it was a shot of something strong. Taking his time to swallow. Being dreadfully disappointed when it didn’t cause his head to spin in the comforting way the alcohol always did. He put the cup back onto the tray. He scratched at his eyebrow. Unable to formulate the words. So, he just gave up. 

“Hey,” Jaebeom beckoned behind him. “We should probably bring Bam in. It’s pretty bad out there.”

And Youngjae looked back at him. Eyes round and trying to read him. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. His voice soft and detached. He bundled his robe back together, covering all that smooth milky white. And Jaebeom was immediately missing it. “Let’s go get him.”


	13. A Home for Three

The light rain that fell between the two mountains only turned to thunderstorms when the cover of night inevitably came. An older Japanese woman came by with a tray in her arms. Her eyes widened when she saw three instead of one. She and Youngjae spoke together and when she came back again, she delivered another tray, piled with food. Jaebeom and Bambam bowed thanking her as they sat around the living space and began to eat. And Youngjae and Bam were bantering while Jaebeom stayed quiet. Leaning back, watching Youngjae from his spot on the floor.

He was still so wonderful. The way he laughed with Bambam, eyes like bright crescent moons, as he gutted him with witty quips. Running his hands through his hair every time his eyes strayed over to Jaebeom and they exchanged charged looks. Piecing apart what it was in them. Confusion and longing and apprehension and questions. But whatever it was, it went unaddressed. So they just kept eating. Just kept catching up with Bambam. And at the end of the night, Youngjae made space for them in the main room, helping them set mats out before retiring to his own room.

As the thunder rumbled overheard, rattling the wood and paper doors, Jaebeom lay awake. Thinking back to those looks Youngjae had been giving him. And how he had wanted nothing more than to cross that room on his hands and knees and kiss the space between his eyebrows to get them to stop furrowing. Knowing exactly how it would feel. How Youngjae’s breath would shudder against his collarbones. How he’d look up. Those wide wonderous eyes. He sighed, frustrated, and sat up, looking over to Bam sleeping peacefully at his side. The occasional burst of lightning from out the window giving blue hues to his white blonde hair. But even through the rumbles of thunder, the boy did not stir.

Jaebeom got up. He let his bare feet pad carefully over the bamboo floors, sliding the deck door open and stepping out before closing it behind him. He came forward, looking out over the edge at the way the lightning flashed against the gorge, reflecting metallic silver in the rushing water. The multi-colored leaves of the trees rippling in the harsh wind, struggling to hold themselves steady. He folded his hands over the ledge. The overhang of the roof protecting him from the rain, but it still managed to mist his skin indirectly. Leaving him chilled to the bone but unwilling to go inside. Watching the way the droplets collected at the edge, bending the low light until they looked like they were glittering. He stood there, looking up. And he thought. And he thought.

He didn’t know how long it was, but he heard the sound of the door sliding open behind him. He looked over his shoulder. 

Youngjae was there, still in that navy silk robe that cinched at his waist. His arms crossed over his middle, protecting himself from the chilly wind.

“Can’t sleep?” he offered, his smooth voice breaking up the sound of the rain.

And Jaebeom nodded back.

Youngjae slid the door close behind him. “Me neither.” He came forward, leaning against the edge alongside him. 

They peered across the landscape together. The rain filling the silence until Jaebeom spoke out. “Why did you come here of all places?”

“Well,” Youngjae shrugged. “I started in Tokyo. But I kept seeing your face. In bus ads and phone cases and supermarkets. So, I moved west. And I just kind of kept going until you weren’t around anymore. And then I found this village. I met Yui who owns this guesthouse. I reminded her of her son who passed away last year, so she let me stay here as long as I promised to paint her something. I think I’ve finished five or six paintings for her by now. Of her family. Of the gorge and the mountains. Of the workers in the field. Of the house that’s been passed down for generations. So many hidden stories here.”

Jaebeom looked over, seeing that flash of wonder in Youngjae’s eyes that made Jaebeom ache all over. Made him think back to Paris, when they were still trying to decipher each other like pieces of art. Clueless but curious.

Only one question came to Jaebeom’s mind. “Why didn’t you want to be reminded of me?” 

Youngjae scoffed lightly, eyes not straying from the landscape. “You know why. You must know why.”

Jaebeom swallowed. “Tell me anyway.”

Youngjae looked back this time. His eyes round and misty. Taking a deep breath in. “Because I missed you.”

And Jaebeom felt a flush of warmth that the rain couldn’t extinguish.

Youngjae shook his head. “You still won’t tell me why you came here,” he whispered out. “Why you found me.”

Jaebeom felt that hole inside of him aching. Pressurized inside his chest. Once again feeling overwhelmed with the weight of the question. “Why does it matter?” he challenged. And then he let go of some of that hostility, letting uneasiness fill its place. “God. I hate this. Why do I feel like it’s all up to me?”

“Because it is,” Youngjae urged. “Don’t you see? It’s always been up to you. You’re the reason for all of this.”

Jaebeom was silent. Not knowing how to take that. 

Youngjae sighed. Looking away again. Downtrodden. His voice getting quieter. “I don’t expect you to forgive us.”

Jaebeom ached. “I want to,” he insisted. “But I want a lot of things.”

Youngjae looked back over. “What do you want?”

Jaebeom watched the way the wind dragged the ends of Youngjae’s hair into his face. And he had the urge to smooth it away for him, but he suppressed it. Instead, letting his eyes follow that gust of damp breeze and watching the way it blew the leaves. The way the reds and yellows struggled but held on. Strong despite looking weak. And he knew he had to be the same way. He had to try and be strong. “I want there to be a world where this all works out,” he said, his throat rough. “Where we can just be happy and be together. All three of us. But I don’t know what that looks like.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Youngjae murmured. “On the tour, we would talk about it. Jinyoung and I. A situation where we could be together. But it was never quite right. It was like the crystal ball was always too cloudy to see that future.”

Jaebeom flattened his mouth. “Maybe that means it’s not supposed to happen.”

Youngjae turned to face him fully. “Maybe that means we just need to try.”

Jaebeom looked at him. Saw how serious he was. “What do you mean?”

Youngjae took a deep breath. Gathering his strength. “You’re right. None of us know what this is or how to do it. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that we all want it. And maybe it didn’t work out the first time. Because we weren’t being forthcoming with the truth and you were the one who ended up hurt. But now that we’ve all been alone and hurting, now that we know the inverse, maybe …just wanting it is enough reason to try.” 

Jaebeom was quiet. Hesitating. His mind flitting between thoughts like the leaves flitting in the rain.

“Talk to me,” Youngjae said, firm.

“I can’t,” he sighed, ragged and desperate. Rushing to frustration again. “We’ve never been good at this part, Youngjae. We are good at the feeling part. Good at the loving each other part. Really good at that part. But the talking part. Me opening up or you opening up. We always hesitate on that part.”

Youngjae blinked slow. “Not like you and Jinyoung,” he murmured like maybe he was a little jealous.

“Nothing like me and Jinyoung,” Jaebeom agreed. “When he looks at me, it makes me want to tell him everything. When I look at you, it’s like you already know everything.”

“And usually, I do. But you sent us away and now you show up months later,” Youngjae hissed, shaking his head. “And I don’t know where your head is at. I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know what you want from me. And I don’t know why it’s so hard to read you now. Maybe it’s just the time apart. Or maybe I’m just feeling too insecure about everything that’s happened. Too regretful about how it all went down. And I can’t see past that. But I’m trying, hyung. And I need you to try too. Please.”

Jaebeom felt like he may cry. It was too real. Knowing that Youngjae who had been this pillar in his life the past few months, this symbol for consistency and strength, he had those weaknesses too. He had those hesitations and doubts. But despite them, he had hope. And isn’t that what Jaebeom had always admired in him? His ability to maintain hope even in the darkest of times. Isn’t that an ability he had wanted for himself?

Youngjae shifted closer. “Please,” he begged. Round eyes reflecting the glittering droplets on the edge of the overhang. “Tell me.”

And Jaebeom just looked at him. Knowing what was coming. Feeling the beat in his heart kick up towards his throat.

Youngjae licked his lips, eyes wide and curious and serious. “Why are you here?”

And in the moment, everything felt like a getaway car charging towards a cliff’s edge. The pedal to the floor of his stomach and the engine roaring in his ears. But instead of a car and a cliff, it was the words on the edge of his lips. And he could see more and more of the horizon opening up beneath him. See how he was racing closer and closer. Feel the way his chest bloomed with adrenaline until it was coming up into his mouth like something he’d never tasted. And the momentum was too much. The brakes weren’t an option.

“I want to bring you home,” he said. And like that, the proposition was out there. Off that cliff’s edge and suspended midair, not knowing how far below the ground was. Dizzy with the ambiguity and the vulnerability. With the risk of failure. Of rejection. Of plummeting too far and too hard and bursting into flames.

Youngjae blinked, slow and beautiful. And it wasn’t clear if he was taken off guard or not. A breath leaving his parted lips like maybe he was surprised, but the wide, sure look in his eyes saying otherwise. The moment stretched on. Like a labyrinth of time Jaebeom didn’t know how to stumble out of. But then, the expression on Youngjae’s face began to thaw. His lips pulled and pulled until the whites of his teeth reflected back in the low light. And even through the darkness, the brightness of his smile couldn’t be dimmed. Radiating all that warmth that had Jaebeom feeling it between his shoulder blades like in that hotel in New York. His words came out soft and sure. “Take me home, hyung.”

Jaebeom fell. But it wasn’t a crash. No. Because Youngjae was catching him. Like he always did. The adrenaline surged again, tasting completely different in his mouth now. Too much for one person to bare. So he rushed forward, his mouth finding Youngjae’s and kissing him like he was trying to share the weight of his feelings. And the darkness and the dampness of the setting had his mind darting back to their first kiss, to that lake in England. How soft and safe Youngjae had felt, how he always felt. And this wasn’t any different.

Youngjae’s cool hands went up to his neck, sliding against the skin and making him shudder into the kiss.

Jaebeom’s fingers felt for his waist, slotting around his hips and remembering exactly the angle they made. As if his mind had been mapping them with every touch they’d ever shared. He dragged him forward until their bodies were flush.

Youngjae’s teeth dragged against his lower lip. And when he gasped, he felt the boy’s tongue chase after the sound. Sliding against his mouth in a way that had Jaebeom’s eyebrows drawing together firmly. Feeling all of that passion and meticulousness that he remembered so fondly.

Youngjae pulled away, resting his forehead against Jaebeom’s. Soft, quick breaths panting out.

And feeling Youngjae’s breath against his mouth, the closeness of his body. Feeling closer to home than any other place had felt. It all had him shaking, trembling against the chill of the rain in his bones. Making everything in him chatter.

Youngjae’s breath stifled. A small giggle against his mouth. “Hey,” his thumbs brushed against his jaw. “Why are you shaking?”

And Jaebeom felt a blush creeping over him, self-conscious. He swallowed. “It’s just a lot,” he said, voice shaky and nervous.

“What’s a lot?” Youngjae’s voice was soft and soothing in his ears.

Jaebeom licked his lips. “What I feel,” he choked out.

Youngjae nodded against his skin. “I know, hyung,” he said. “I love you for that.”

Jaebeom ached, in the best way possible. Everything in him reaching out and desperate to commit every little detail to memory. “Say it again,” he whispered. “Please. Say it again.”

“I love you,” Youngjae said. “And I’ll never stop saying it.”

And Jaebeom felt it. That sacrifice Youngjae was able to make. Giving Jaebeom pieces of himself to fill up the emptiness. More full than it had ever felt. He felt the tears wanting to spring forward, so instead he leaned in again, kissing him. Hands drawing up his back, feeling every contour under that soft silk. Knowing that the expanse of skin underneath was just as soft. Wanting to slip his hands inside and prove it.

Youngjae pulled away. “Come on,” he grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together like it was the most natural thing they could do. He dragged him away from the edge and slid open the door, tiptoeing back into the house.

Jaebeom followed, closing the door behind him and carefully watching Bambam on his mat. The way his eyes stayed closed and his face stayed serene.

Youngjae dragged him into his room, laying Jaebeom down on the mat before crawling over him, collapsing against his chest and drawing the long line of their bodies together. He nuzzled into his neck and kissed all the skin between his wide shoulder and his ear. His hands ran under his t-shirt, fingers dragging against his ribs like he knew exactly how to strum a pretty melody from him.

Jaebeom whimpered under his breath. Feeling too good. Not just physically, but more than that. Like every touch was conveying those feelings that couldn’t be put into words. The ones him and Youngjae were so good at feeling.

“I missed you so much,” Youngjae whispered against his skin. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”

“I do,” Jaebeom said surely. Because nothing felt ambiguous anymore in this moment. Everything felt so certain and mutual and it had Jaebeom thinking that maybe this is how it could always feel.

Youngjae giggled. He pulled away, looking down at him. His fingers twisting up the fabric around his chest. “This is his shirt, isn’t it?” he smiled.

And Jaebeom felt how slim it was on his broad chest and flashed back to the way it had looked against Jinyoung’s tightness. Contouring to all the strong curves of him. “Yeah,” Jaebeom smiled, shyly. Thinking about how he’d been wearing it underneath everything since he found it. As if Jinyoung was some high school crush he was pining for.

“God,” Youngjae buried his face against Jaebeom’s chest. “I thought the two of you smelled good. But together?” He ran his nose over the cotton, breathing it. He sighed happily, looking up at him. “It’s devastating.”

Jaebeom felt the rumble of his words send a wave of testosterone through his whole body, landing somewhere in his lap. He let out a breath, his hands going to Youngjae’s hair, raking it away from his face. “Youngjae. I want you,” he murmured. “I want you so bad.”

Youngjae’s smile peeked in the low light again. He raised himself on his hands, hovering over him. Blinking slow and sure. “Can you wait?” he asked. “Wait for Jinyoung-hyung?”

Jaebeom felt the beginnings of a sound working its way up his throat. The thought of it landing a low blow in his stomach. The thought of having both of them together like that. “He didn’t wait for you,” Jaebeom offered.

“Yeah?” Youngjae’s brows raised. “Well, there you go. Further proof he’s an asshole.”

Jaebeom laughed and Youngjae joined him.

Youngjae sank back down, his mouth moving back over his neck, up to his ear. “Wait for Jinyoung-hyung,” he whispered. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And it only made the warmth of testosterone flow more dangerously. His lap twitching in response. Wanting nothing more than to press Youngjae’s shoulders into the mat and rut against him until he had nothing left to give. He took a deep breath. Trying to calm down his body. “Okay,” he nodded. “We’ll wait.” He tried to focus his mind elsewhere. “When should we leave?” he asked.

The flutter of Youngjae’s eyelashes stilled as he closed his eyes. “We can go tomorrow. After I finish my last painting.”

Jaebeom sighed. Thinking out loud. “Bam’s going to give me so much shit,” he groaned.

He felt Youngjae huff against his neck. “Your happiness is his happiness,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Let him have that.”

Jaebeom nodded. Thinking of that warm, sweet boy from that warm, sweet place. How he’d managed to carve a place for himself in Jaebeom’s life. “I know,” he agreed. “I will.”

“Get some sleep, hyung,” Youngjae murmured. Too much sleepiness in his voice. “We have a long trip home.”

And Jaebeom stared up at the ceiling. Feeling, for the first time, like home was within reach.

\---

The next day, Jaebeom woke up, stirring from his place on the mat. The tight shoulders of Jinyoung’s t-shirt riding up his arms. His long hair mused to one side, messily. He drew in a long breath, stretching out onto his back. He felt weird at first. Different. Trying to place it. And as he thought, he noticed how clear his head felt. No ache of his temples. No fuzziness of his memory. And he sat up, knowing that clarity certainly was different.

He looked over and saw Youngjae. Sitting in front of his canvas again. That same painting as yesterday in front of him. Not looking out over the view anymore but working from memory. Filling in the details of that rainy mountain scene.

Jaebeom leaned forward, crawling across the bamboo floor on his hands and knees. He came up behind Youngjae. Leaning in to kiss his neck.

Youngjae’s shoulder drew up at the sensation. A giggle falling from his mouth. He turned his head. “Good morning, hyung,” he smiled.

Jaebeom raised his head up, letting their lips come together softly. He kissed a few more times, feeling the melt of them towards each other. He murmured against his mouth, “Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” Youngjae laughed. “The good kind of distraction though.” He kissed him again before drawing his eyes back to the painting. “What do you think?” he asked, motioning the end of his brush down the wall. “Of the series.”

Along the wall, Youngjae’s other paintings stood in a line. Six of them in total. Different settings and scenes. But all those warm blended colors. The reds and yellows contrasting the hazes of gray. Much like that rain in the one he was currently painting.

“They look great, Youngjae,” Jaebeom commented, putting his chin on his shoulder. “You sure you want to just give them to this woman? You worked hard on them.”

Youngjae nodded. “I’ll make more.” He kept looking at the lineup. His eyes back and forth. He scoffed, irritated. “This one sticks out,” he said, pointing towards the one he was working on. The rain against the changing leaves of the mountains.

Jaebeom stared at it. Flicking his own eyes along the series. Not quite seeing it. “Why?”

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Youngjae sighed. “There’s just… something different.”

Jaebeom looked up to his face, seeing the way he stared at it like he was pulling it apart in his mind. “Why do you think that is?”

Youngjae pointed towards the row. “Because these ones, I was missing you,” he said. “You can see it. In the absence of lines. Every color bleeding into the next. Unsure of where one stops and the other starts.” He looked back to his canvas. “But now that I’m doing this one, there’s precision in it, clarity. I’ve been trying to fill in the details, but they look harsh over what was already put down.” He shook his head. “And the worst part is I can’t help it. It’s just …how you make me feel.”

Jaebeom felt the words warming him. He studied the slope of his neck, watching the moles on the back of his neck peek out of his robe. He put his lips there, “Maybe I should have waited another day to come then,” he teased.

Youngjae pulled away, twisting to look back at him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jaebeom smiled, “Me too.” Sharing the moment between them.

Youngjae sighed, happily. “I’ll be done soon. You should go wake Bambam while I try and salvage this,” he looked back down, dipping his brush back into the palette and mixing a few colors together.

“Okay,” Jaebeom said, kissing his neck once more before drawing himself up on his feet. He went over, opening the door to the main room.

His eyes fell upon Bambam. Who was sitting cross legged on his mat. His hands folded in his lap. His eyes bright and awake and knowing. “Good morning, hyung,” he said, cheerfully.

Jaebeom glared at him, stepping forward. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” Bambam shrugged his shoulders, innocently. “I just said good morning.”

“You know exactly what,” Jaebeom narrowed his eyes.

Bam smiled. “I’m just glad you slept well,” he offered. “Or didn’t sleep well. I don’t know. It’s not my business.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Enough,” he huffed. “Start packing up. We are leaving soon.” He started to turn towards the bathroom.

Bam rushed. “The two of us?” he asked, eyes wide. “Or…” his voice trailed off.

Jaebeom’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “The three of us,” he said, fighting a grin that was trying to work its way through.

Bambam’s smile stretched, toothy and genuine. “I’ll be ready in ten,” he hurried, getting up and starting to get ready.

\---

When the three of them landed in Seoul, they came out of the airport, standing at the edge of the curb.

“Hey,” Bambam hoisted his bag up his shoulder and beckoned behind him. “I’m going to catch the train back home.”

“You sure you don’t want a ride? I just ordered a taxi,” Jaebeom pointed towards the street that ran in front of the terminal.

Bambam shook his head. “No,” he said. “You both focus on getting Jinyoung-hyung back.”

And Jaebeom felt himself flushing, embarrassed. He looked over to Youngjae.

The boy was staring back at him with wide eyes. “You really told him everything, didn’t you?”

Jaebeom carded a hand through his long hair. “I mean,” he shrugged. “I needed to tell someone.”

“Hyung,” Bambam spoke up. His face apprehensive. His fingers wearing into the strap of his bag. “What are you going to do? About the contract. About the album.”

Jaebeom felt a flood of nerves. Because he still didn’t know what he was going to do. “Let me figure that out. Don’t worry. Just trust that I’ll handle it, okay?”

Bambam nodded, face still a little nervous but trusting. “Youngjae-hyung,” Bam came forward, wrapping his arms around him. “I hope I see you around.”

Youngjae laughed, hugging him back. “You will, Bammie,” he nodded. “You will.”

Bambam pulled away, standing there for a moment. Weighing himself between the soles of his pointy boots. Waiting.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed. “Come here.”

Bam rushed forward, embracing him tightly and letting his face press into his shoulder.

And Jaebeom sighed. Feeling like maybe this was long overdue. “Hey,” he murmured into his white blonde hair. “Stay in touch, okay?”

Bam pulled back, smiling at him. “Don’t worry. I have your number now. I can bother you as much as you want.”

Jaebeom felt the smirk grow on his face. “Looking forward to it, Bammie,” he said softly, letting him go. “Be safe,” he waved as the boy started walking away. “Text me when you get home.”

“Yes, hyung!” he called, skipping away.

When Youngjae and Jaebeom got into their taxi, Jaebeom was looking at a map on his phone. “Okay,” he shut the door. “So Jinyoung said it’s on the north side. Somewhere in the hills. Maybe that means he’s near-“

“Hyung,” Youngjae stopped him. “I know where he is.”

“You know his apartment?” Jaebeom asked, wondering how that timeline of events broke down.

Youngjae titled his head to the side. “Mmm,” he hummed. “It’s not really an apartment.”

Jaebeom blinked. “What do you mean?”

Youngjae nodded. “You’ll see,” he said before leaning forward and giving the driver the address.

Youngjae had been right. It wasn’t an apartment but almost like a workshop. A small white industrial space with windows all along the wall that looked out over the hills of Seoul, the rise and fall of rooftops. Laundry strung up and antennas poking out. Sunshine bright and shadows small under the midday sky. A view they hadn’t been able to replicate no matter where in the world they’d traveled to.

“Hyung?” Youngjae called for Jinyoung, letting it echo off the bare walls and windows. When there was no response, he sighed. “He must be out.”

There were only so many places to look in the singular room. Jaebeom’s eyes scanned over the space. It was bare of any decor, but against one of the walls, a large sheet was tacked up at the corners, tarping downward onto the floor. It was covered with streaks of paint and charcoal. Wrinkled and dusty. Across the cement floor, there was barely any furniture. A few stools around a dirtied worktable on one side that stretched out in a large square. Paint drips and remnants of clay filling the worn spaces. And Jaebeom walked up to it, feeling over the rough texture of the unsealed wood. Flicking his eyes up, there was a mattress laid out up against the windows. Lit warmly by the bright mid-day sun and messy with unmade white sheets.

“What is this place?” Jaebeom said softly, voice getting lost in the emptiness.

“My studio,” Youngjae said, smiling faintly. “It was a first-year anniversary gift. I used to come into the city and work here when I had meetings or exhibitions.”

“It’s pretty bare,” Jaebeom noted.

Youngjae sat himself down on the mattress, stretching out in the sun and folding his arms behind his head. “It was never meant to be a place to live,” he shrugged. “I don’t know why he’s been squatting here like this.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jaebeom came over, sitting down next to him. “He misses you.”

Youngjae was silent, looking up at the ceiling. Thinking. 

“Do you miss him?” Jaebeom asked.

“Of course, I do,” Youngjae furrowed his brows. “It’s just…”

And he didn’t have to say it. Cause Jaebeom knew what he meant. He knew that Jinyoung walked the line between being easy to want and hard to love. And Jaebeom was thinking of what he could say, how he could soothe the anxiety wearing uncharacteristically across his face. But as soon as he opened his mouth, the sound of the door keypad shook them both. Standing up from where they were and facing towards the sound.

Jinyoung came in. Looking up and stopping short as soon as he met their gaze. He had a bag of groceries in his arm. His thick glasses over his wide eyes. Stubble coming in too strong on his upper lip. Something a bit less put together about him. Maybe it was the slight wrinkle of his shirt or the looseness of his denim.

They all stood there for a moment. And it felt like a standoff. Wondering who would draw first.

Maybe unsurprisingly, it was Jinyoung.

He worked his tongue into his cheek momentarily before breaking the silence. “You’re back,” he said. He let the door swing shut behind him as he went over to the worktable and set the groceries down. Something in his voice not settling right. It was apathetic but leaning from simply nonchalant into caustic. He turned back, leaning up against the edge of the table and crossing his arms over his tight chest. “Have a nice trip?” The faintest raise of his brows conveying something cynical.

Jaebeom felt himself immediately cave in. Wanting to cower. His mind racing. Filling with doubts.

But Youngjae didn’t seem phased. “Sit,” the boy beckoned towards the mattress on the floor. Sharp. No formalities attached.

Jinyoung locked eyes with him. Hard and dark despite the light flooding inward. His chest seemed to double in size, like a bird ruffling its feathers for a fight. “I’m not stupid,” he bit out. “I know why you both are here.”

Jaebeom looked over to Youngjae. The boy wasn’t looking back. He was watching Jinyoung with piercing eyes.

Youngjae hissed through his teeth, cocking his head to the side in irritation. “I’m not too sure you do.”

Jinyoung’s body was still. Not a breath in his lungs nor a twitch of his cheek. Everything about him reading hard and cold. But when he finally spoke, the small shake in his voice was unmistakable. “You’re,” he choked around the word before trying again. “You’re leaving me.”

Jaebeom felt something akin to that detox fever creeping up his spine. Flooding his head with a feeling that made every hair stand on edge. His throat going dry. He looked over to Youngjae in a look of panic.

Youngjae still wasn’t looking away from Jinyoung. He stood firm, eyes narrow. He didn’t speak. And Jaebeom didn’t know what to say. Waiting for Youngjae’s more experienced cue.

Jinyoung’s gaze shifted between them. The movement making the fresh gloss against it shine in the light. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he nodded. And despite his efforts to stay stoic and firm, the continued shake of his voice and the beginnings of a small tremble in his shoulders gave him away. “Isn’t that why you both pushed me out? You decided you didn’t need me. Decided you made each other happy enough. That I was just complicating it. Cause that’s all I ever was, right? Just a means for you two to meet?”

Jaebeom couldn’t speak. Too shocked by all the hurt collecting across Jinyoung’s features. His eyes glanced over to Youngjae again. Seeing the way he stayed stony and resolute.

“And I see it. I get it,” Jinyoung shrugged, eyes flicking over to Youngjae. Nodding like he’s sure. “Jaebeom empowers you. He relies on you to be the stabilizing force in his life.” And then he looked over to Jaebeom. Equal amount of certainty in it. “And Youngjae makes you feel like you can be weak. He soothes you without even needing to say anything.”

“And you know what,” Jinyoung sniffed, looking down. He shook his head, waving them away with one hand. “That’s fine. I’m happy for you both. You didn’t have to come over here and tell me. You could have just sent the papers. I wouldn’t have argued. You don’t need to convince me that I’m difficult. It’s not news to me.” He swallowed. He took a breath. “So, if you both want to go-”

Jaebeom couldn’t take it anymore. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he breathed. He came forward, his arms reaching out to wrap around Jinyoung. He drew him close, slotting his chin over his shoulder. “Stop.”

Jinyoung seemed to only tighten at the touch. His chest feeling rigid against Jaebeom’s. Not returning the embrace. “Stop what?” he said, sounding dazed.

“Talking like that,” Jaebeom sighed, holding him tighter. As if coercing him to relax. “We are not leaving you, idiot.”

Jinyoung didn’t breathe out. He just kept holding himself too firm.

Jaebeom pulled away. His forefinger and thumb pulling off Jinyoung’s thick glasses and setting them on the worktable. He put a hand to his face, looking deeply into his bare eyes. Trying to convey it.

Jinyoung looked back, clouded with tears and confusion. The warm brown going hazy in the bright light. He blinked. “You’re-“ he stuttered. “You’re not?” His eyes flicked from Jaebeom’s face to Youngjae’s, seeking answers.

Youngjae sighed. “No,” he said, softly. “But I’m still mad.”

Jinyoung looked back into Jaebeom’s face.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom smiled. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met. I love that you challenge me when I’m stuck in my ways of thinking. And I’ve never been able to just talk to someone as easily as I talk to you. Even when it’s hard, even when I don’t want to, you make me feel heard. And I can’t live without that. I need that.”

Jinyoung gulped. His glossy eyes fixed.

Youngjae sighed, coming forward, even if he was dragging his feet. Putting one of his hands to Jinyoung’s chin, drawing his eyes towards him. “And you were there for the most important thing that ever happened to me. You supported me when I felt like I had no one,” Youngjae sighed. “And when I get too in my head, when things feel dark and hopeless, you know how to draw me out and make me see reason.” He skimmed his hand down his arm, lacing their fingers together. “And yeah, you were an asshole. But you’re my asshole. And you know how much I love you. That’s why I married you. Idiot.”

Jinyoung came forward, near collapsing against Youngjae’s shoulder. His eyes closing tight. “Youngjae. I’m sorry,” he said and kept repeating it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Youngjae murmured. Looking for a specific answer.

“For blaming you. For pushing you away. I was hurt and I was stupid and you didn’t deserve that,” Jinyoung gave out. His arms snaking around Youngjae and pulling him close. 

“What about Jaebeom-hyung?” Youngjae offered. “Sounds like you weren’t very nice to him either.”

Jinyoung raised his head to meet Youngjae’s eyes.

Youngjae beckoned towards Jaebeom. “Go,” he said. “Apologize.”

Jinyoung turned towards Jaebeom, wrapping his arms around him and burying his head in the crook of his neck. When he spoke, his voice was muffled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was being cruel. Cause I was hurting and I wanted you to hurt too.”

Jaebeom brushed his hand over the nape of his neck. “It’s okay, Jinyoung. I shouldn’t have sent you away like that. We were all being foolish and brokenhearted. But we don’t have to feel that way anymore. Right?”

And Jaebeom could feel the brush of his eyelashes and his nose. Relishing how sweet he felt. How Jinyoung felt like he was falling open in his arms without the usual struggle. And it made him realize that maybe Youngjae’s power to soothe had a different effect on Jinyoung. And he was contemplating this when he felt Jinyoung’s soft lips against his skin, the featherlight press of a kiss. He flicked his eyes up, seeing Youngjae standing across from him. His wide eyes on him, something akin to that wonder in them. And then, Jaebeom felt the sinking of Jinyoung’s teeth into his skin. And it made him gasp aloud.

Youngjae’s bottom lip slid between his teeth as his smile widened.

And it had everything in Jaebeom wanting to sink into a puddle on the floor. His body still on high alert from his pass on Youngjae last night. The scrape of Jinyoung’s teeth seemed to be spreading something warm through his blood. And the way Youngjae was watching it had him melting.

Youngjae stepped closer, leaning into Jaebeom’s other side. His lips coming up to brush against his ear. “What do you want?” Youngjae whispered. “From him?”

And Jinyoung pulled away to look in his eyes.

Jaebeom stared back at Jinyoung. Feeling the beat in his chest pick up. He reached out, swiping his thumb over the edge of his plush, pink lips. Watching the rim of white bloom around his thumbprint before letting it go. The blood rushing back even pinker.

“His mouth?” Youngjae asked.

Jaebeom didn’t look away from it, but nodded.

“Can you do that, hyung?” Youngjae asked Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung didn’t say anything. He just reached for his hand.

Jaebeom’s mind raced as he let himself be pulled to the mattress. Jinyoung pushed him down so that he was falling onto his back and forearms. He backpedaled until he was sitting with his back against the window. He looked up at both of them standing over him. Two sets of eyes. Jaebeom thought back to that hotel room in Seattle and how they’d looked at him and made him feel so vulnerable and self-conscious and uncomfortable. But now in this moment, he felt their eyes warming him like the bright light filtering in. Radiating from his head to his toes. Encircling that emptiness inside him, that hole, until the edges felt soft. Malleable. Willing to be shaped into whatever they wanted.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Youngjae asked, not moving his eyes from Jaebeom’s face.

Jinyoung looked down at him on the mattress, “I don’t think he is.”

Jaebeom felt heat crawling up his neck. He licked his lips, unable to speak.

Jinyoung knelt down to the mattress, crawling up into Jaebeom and starting to fumble with the waistband of his pants.

Jaebeom watched him, eyes wide and heart pounding. Every small movement felt like it was taking eons. And Jaebeom was feeling impatient. So, he fisted Jinyoung’s shirt, bringing him in to kiss him hard. Their tongues running together. Harkening back to hot showers only days before.

Jinyoung’s hands continued undoing his pants, dipping beneath the waistband and pulling his cock out. Feeling the way he was already half hard from simply the idea of what was coming. Jinyoung began kneading him with firm strokes.

Jaebeom sighed against his mouth. 

Jinyoung kept kneading him, feeling him harden. And when he was firm to the touch, Jinyoung sank down onto his elbows, looking up as he brought Jaebeom to his perfect lips, dipping down onto him in that way that only he seemed to know how to do. His mouth feeling so hot and wet as he began to move.

“Does he feel good, hyung?” Youngjae asked, watching from where he now sat on the edge of the mattress.

Jaebeom licked his lips, watching Jinyoung work. He nodded, whimpering when Jinyoung pulled away for a moment just to trail his tongue precisely against the head. Jaebeom reached out, raking his hands over Jinyoung’s back and pulling his shirt off his head so that he could see the expanse of his skin shining in the light. Throwing it somewhere into the ether before letting his hands clutch against his sharp shoulder blades. Watching them flex as he worked his mouth against him. Eyes going further and further down towards the illustrious curve Jinyoung’s ass.

And Jinyoung must have been enjoying himself because he kept arching his back, raising his ass higher and higher into the air.

And he wasn’t the only one to notice, as he watched Youngjae come forward, eyes glued. His hand reaching out to Jinyoung’s shoulder blade, intertwining his fingers with Jaebeom’s momentarily before he was letting go. Trailing those fingertips down and down, over Jinyoung’s ass until he was massaging against his entrance through the fabric of his denim.

Jinyoung whimpered softly around Jaebeom, arching back into Youngjae’s touch.

And it was all Youngjae needed to hear before his hands were reaching underneath to work against the buttons of Jinyoung’s jeans until they were folded open. He clutched the waist of them, shimmying them off his tight hips and down his thighs until there was nothing but skin stretched down his back. Jaebeom’s eyes devoured the sight.

Youngjae’s hand returned to his entrance rubbing it in firm circles, causing more noises to rumble around Jaebeom. In turn causing Jaebeom to groan too.

Jaebeom watched as Youngjae got up from his spot, going to that worktable and opening the drawers that lined the sides. Searching and searching through paints and brushes and tools before grabbing a bottle and coming back over. He knelt down, feeling at Jinyoung entrance again just so that he would preen his ass up into the air again. He uncapped the bottle, drizzling his fingers with a generous amount of lube. He put it to the side, fingers starting to massage again with more effort now. Peaking their tips inside to where Jaebeom couldn’t see them.

He felt the tremble of Jinyoung’s whole body bearing down on his cock. His renewed vigor as he took Jaebeom deeper down his throat. Plush lips meeting the skin of his pelvis.

Jaebeom’s head rolled back, looking down the line of his nose and watching the way Youngjae’s fingers were pumping in and out of Jinyoung now. The way the boy’s cock was straining against his pants.

“Fuck,” Youngjae hissed. “God, you’re so needy, hyung.”

Jinyoung nodded, Jaebeom’s head brushing the top of his mouth and feeling the wet slick of it.

Youngjae pulled his fingers out, unbuttoning the top of his own pants and shoving them down enough just to spill out. He ran his slick fingers against himself before lining up behind Jinyoung, rubbing his tip against his entrance.

Jaebeom felt his chest stirring at the sight, looking down at Jinyoung’s mouth as it worked against him. He put a hand into his raven hair and tugged it just to get Jinyoung moaning around him again.

“Oh,” Youngjae cooed, his fingers seizing Jinyoung’s hips. “You know he likes that.”

Jaebeom smiled, chest heaving. “Do it, Youngjae,” he panted. “Fuck him.”

Youngjae smirked back before sinking into him, nearly doubling over but holding himself steady. Catching himself before he started to rock his hips back and forth against Jinyoung.

Jinyoung was a groaning mess between them. Choking himself eagerly around Jaebeom’s cock.

Jaebeom could feel the build of warmth in his core. Pulsing through him and only asking for more and more of whatever they could give him. “Youngjae,” Jaebeom called, reaching out his hand.

Without hesitation, Youngjae raised his out as well, fingers tangling together.

Jaebeom dragged it forward, placing it against Jinyoung’s hair. He nodded, communicating the sentiment to Youngjae wordlessly.

He watched Youngjae’s fingers close around the soft strands. Jaebeom himself found a spot near the nape of Jinyoung’s neck to tangle his own fingers into. And he watched the muscles of their forearms tighten as they pulled his hair in unison.

Jinyoung cried out, his eyes going glossy as he looked up to Jaebeom. 

And Jaebeom looked back into his eyes, feeling that insistence of his mouth, and it was suddenly too much. The pleasure moving in a straight line between them with Jinyoung as the conduit. He gasped, releasing hard down Jinyoung’s throat. His fingers going soft against his hair.

Jinyoung milked the last of Jaebeom between his lips, swallowing him down. And Youngjae pulled out before guiding Jinyoung’s hips back down to the mattress. Jinyoung sat, raising himself back up to wipe his shiny, swollen mouth with the back of his hand. Hair ruffled in every direction from being pulled and eyes glimmering back to something more innocent as he watched Jaebeom catch his breath.

Youngjae crawled forward, sitting himself in Jaebeom’s lap and pulling his face closer with his cool hands. Jaebeom’s mouth already open for the taking as Youngjae started to rake his tongue over him, craning his neck.

But suddenly, Youngjae’s face was pulling away and Jaebeom was trying to chase it but he still felt so weak as he came down from his climax. He opened his eyes, watching the way Jinyoung manhandled Youngjae away.

“Baby. Give him a minute,” Jinyoung soothed with a throat rough from the way Jaebeom had worn it down.

Youngjae smiled back at him. “Give him a minute or give you a minute?”

Jinyoung smirked. “Just let me kiss you,” he purred, bringing his face close. His forefinger coming under his chin to lift it towards his mouth and press their lips together sweetly. The brush of their tongue visible from where Jaebeom watched.

“Fuck,” Youngjae sighed against his mouth. “You taste like him.”

Jinyoung hummed, hands feeling for his hips. “Do you like it?” his voice so deep and warm that Jaebeom felt like it was his ears he was speaking into.

“It’s incredible,” Youngjae smiled.

Jaebeom watched, his chest feeling heavy. His body stirring again in reaction. Feeling the blood circulating latently. Dripping slowly through his veins like it was trying to kick start something again in him. “Jinyoung,” Jaebeom called and watched as they pulled away to look at him. “Can you…” he started. Suddenly feeling shy around the words.

Jinyoung smirked. His hand coming forward to squeeze at Jaebeom’s softened cock. The action falling somewhere between teasing and encouraging. 

He felt himself hissing from the oversensitivity. “Can you,” he started again. “Open him up for me?”

Jinyoung’s eyes went from glimmering warm brown to something darker. He smirked, nodding. He turned back to Youngjae, kissing him again and letting his hands work up under his shirt, slipping it off of him. Their chests and their hardnesses clamoring together though they paid no attention. Jinyoung’s hands went up his back, laying him down against the mattress with the utmost care.

Jinyoung’s hands ran down the boy’s front, squeezing his hard cock for a moment before he grabbed for the ends of his pants and slid them down his tight hips. When they were cast off, he knocked Youngjae’s knees apart, letting them fall to each side to get the best access. When his hand was about to delve underneath, Youngjae’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, drawing it up towards his mouth. He took two of Jinyoung’s fingers between his lips, not breaking their eye contact as he sunk them in deep to drench them.

Jinyoung sighed, ragged. “God, I missed you, Youngjae,” he said.

Youngjae pulled the gleaming fingers out with a pop. “I missed you too, hyung.”

And Jaebeom watched, chest overwhelmed with warmth, as Jinyoung returned his fingers to Youngjae’s entrance. He firmly rubbed against it, making it shine in the bright light, before working one finger in. Kneading him carefully before adding one more.

Jaebeom saw all the muscles in Jinyoung’s arm flexing and Youngjae letting shaky little noises come out as his eyes fixated, giving Jinyoung a look that Jaebeom hadn’t seen from him. A look that could only come from the many years they’d known each other. From understanding each other inside and out. And it surprised Jaebeom when he felt no pang of jealousy. Only a deep satisfaction and a desire to understand it more. To see exactly how the two of them fit together. And how he melded into that space as well.

Jinyoung looked back at Jaebeom. Into his lap, seeing his shiny cock laying firm against his t-shirt again. “Are you ready for him?” he asked.

Jaebeom nodded. “Youngjae,” he beckoned. “Come sit.”

Youngjae came forward, grabbing the lube from beside him. His hands went to Jaebeom’s shirt pushing it up and off his torso. He squeezed the lube into his hand, rubbing it over Jaebeom. 

Jaebeom sighed, still feeling like it was too much too soon but not caring because he wanted it. “Face Jinyoung-hyung,” he said.

Youngjae nodded, turning away from him, arching his back into his lap. 

Jaebeom guided his tip to Youngjae’s softened entrance.

And as Youngjae felt it, he sat back, sinking down onto him with a groan. Stilling for a moment as he pulsed tight around Jaebeom’s cock, as if relishing the feeling, before he started to move his hips against him.

Jaebeom hissed, feeling the squeeze of his walls encircle him, hands resting against his hips softly, easing the motion.

And as Youngjae acclimated to the feeling, Jinyoung came forward. He sat on his knees, reaching up to kiss Youngjae again. Licking into his mouth.

Jaebeom leaned to the side, watching as Youngjae’s hand slid down Jinyoung’s chest before closing around his neglected cock. Fingers curling to squeeze tight.

Jinyoung shuddered, his chest caving towards the kiss.

And it had Jaebeom’s fingers latching tighter onto Youngjae’s hips, rutting up into him just to hear those splintered sounds fall against Jinyoung’s open mouth.

Youngjae started working Jinyoung firmly in his hand. Thumbing over his slit where he was dripping messily.

Jaebeom kept watching from behind Youngjae’s hip, unable to draw his eyes away from how Jinyoung was slipping through his fist. Coating his knuckles more and more.

But just as Jinyoung started to whimper uncontrollably, hips kicking up into the hand sloppily, Jaebeom spoke out. “Youngjae,” he commanded. “Don’t let him finish.”

And Youngjae pulled his mouth away from Jinyoung’s, looking into his face as he squeezed his fist tight to stifle any trajectory Jinyoung had been on. And it had Jinyoung hissing through his teeth. “Please, Youngjae,” he panted, ragged and desperate. “Please.”

“Please what?” Youngjae smiled. “What do you want, hyung?”

Jinyoung licked his lips. Eyebrows furrowing together. “Jaebeom,” he whimpered. Those dark, glittering eyes.

Jaebeom felt everything in him clench.

“What do you think, hyung?” Youngjae asked, turning his head to look back at him.

Jaebeom swallowed before nodding. His fingers falling away from Youngjae’s hips.

Youngjae pulled away, sitting himself to the side as Jinyoung came forward to kiss him softly.

Jaebeom smiled at him. “How do you want me, Dr. Park?”

And Jinyoung smirked. “Hands and knees.”

Jaebeom felt that curl of warmth in him as he raised himself up on slightly shaky knees. Feeling so raw and vulnerable and desperate to be touched.

And Jinyoung must have not seen the point in teasing him anymore because he just squeezed more lube directly against his entrance, letting it run down sloppily onto the messy sheets.

And even just the trace of the lube down his skin was enough to have Jaebeom whining, every sensitive nerve frayed and open.

Without touching any other part of him, Jinyoung slid a finger in.

And it was all Jaebeom had to hold on to. So, he pushed himself back against it. Needing more.

Jinyoung worked against him, feeling the softening of his walls before adding another finger into him.

Jaebeom couldn’t stop rocking back against it until his knees were against his chest. Eager and open and willing.

“And you say, I’m needy?” Jinyoung said to Youngjae. A smirk in his voice.

“He’s needy cause he’s sensitive,” Youngjae argued. “You’re needy cause you’re insatiable. There’s a difference.” 

Jaebeom felt himself going warm at the hint of praise.

And Jinyoung didn’t respond but instead just hoisted Jaebeom’s hips back up until he was level with the mattress.

Jaebeom could feel the weight of Jinyoung’s head against his primed entrance. And he tried his hardest to stay still as Jinyoung pushed into him. Holding his breath until he could feel the heat in his face.

Jinyoung slid in, firm and throbbing. He angled Jaebeom’s hips forward before slamming them back, eliciting a broken noise from him.

“Fuck, Dr. Park,” Jaebeom groaned, breathing deeply and screwing his eyes shut. “Harder.”

Jinyoung obliged, mustering up an impromptu rhythm. Plucking the raspy breaths from both of their chests as they clenched around each other. The tension the both of them held being mutually shared. And it became clear that the quickened pace was something even Jinyoung couldn’t maintain because after a short while, his hips were starting to stifle against Jaebeom’s ass.

Jaebeom’s eyes were still closed tight, trying to cancel out every other sensation except the feeling of Jinyoung’s cock hitting into him. Up into that spot that felt too good. It had everything in Jaebeom constricting up little by little. Tighter and tighter with every thrust. 

He felt cool hands coming to rest on the sides of his face, drawing it upwards. He opened his eyes. Seeing Youngjae’s soft smile beaming at him, inches away.

“Look at me,” Youngjae held his face. Fingers moving his long hair away from his eyes. “That’s it.”

Jaebeom’s brows drew together. The sweetness of his soothing bringing a shine to his eyes.

Youngjae kissed his cheeks. His forehead. His nose. Thumbs smoothing softly over his face. “God, you were so good for us, hyung.”

Jaebeom whined loud. The fierce passion of Jinyoung and the soft calm of Youngjae feeling so hot and cool. Mingling throughout his body and his brain. Making his eyes glaze over. His mouth fall open.

Jinyoung’s hand looped around Jaebeom’s shoulder, leveraging himself further into him. An unrelenting force slamming through him.

Youngjae kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away to look in his eyes again. “Come on, hyung,” he smiled, his whispering voice soft and assuring. “I got you. We got you.”

Jaebeom felt his climax rip through him, as if unzipping him from his head to his toes. He cried out as he came into the mattress. Immediately collapsing onto his forearms and rolling onto his back.

Jinyoung kneeled over him. His cock still hard and red and twitching. His chest heaving frantically. Youngjae staring down at him as well.

Jaebeom’s eyes flicked between them. “On me,” he panted. “On me. Please.”

Immediately, Youngjae reached out, tugging at Jinyoung’s cock, causing him to groan loud. He worked it through his fist with coordinated twists. Swift and slick.

Jinyoung choked out a sound, screwing his eyes shut and doubling over. His hands going to either side of Jaebeom as he spilled across his stomach.

And Jaebeom could feel how warm it was on his skin, dripping down the lines of his torso towards the mattress to join his own. So utterly perfect in how distressingly filthy it was.

Jinyoung laid down next to him, their chests heaving in unison. Looking up at the ceiling with smiles across their faces. Jinyoung turned towards him, rolling into his shoulder and leaning into kiss him.

“Jaebeom” he whispered. “We’re not done yet.”

And Jaebeom scrambled up to his elbows. Looking across from him.

Up against the window, Youngjae sat. His slick, hard cock in his lap. His face calm and patient, almost unbothered. But there was a slight upward tilt to his brows. And a hint of lower lip pulled between his teeth. Communicating without words.

“Baby,” Jaebeom sighed.

And Youngjae’s brows tilted more now, a breath expelled from his flared nostrils.

Jaebeom moved over to him. His lips finding the side of his neck. Kissing it softly, again and again while his hands moved between his thighs, pulling them apart. His fingers dipping down to find his entrance. Still slick from before. He slid a finger into him easily and then another. Manipulating them inside.

Youngjae whimpered under Jaebeom’s lips.

And he continued working the fingers into him slow and soft. Drawing out the motions tortuously. He felt the noises in Youngjae’s throat pick up. He pulled away, looking down into the boy’s lap to see long pretty fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking him. He looked up and saw Jinyoung’s eyes on him, both of them smiling in unison.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Jinyoung stared back at Youngjae.

“Fucking perfect,” Jaebeom nodded, twisting the angle of his fingers.

And Youngjae gasped, ears turning red.

Jinyoung looked back at Jaebeom. “And you,” his eyes glimmering as his other hand reached over to sweep Jaebeom’s long hair behind his ear. “This hair is so hot.”

Jaebeom felt that wave crashing over him.

“Youngjae-yah,” Jinyoung nosed against the space behind the boy’s ear. “Isn’t Jaebeom-hyung’s long hair so hot?”

Youngjae’s eyes screwed shut. “So fucking hot,” he breathed. “Both of you are so fucking hot.”

“Mmm,” Jaebeom hummed. “Really?” He smiled. Putting a third finger in and feeling the stretch. “Why don’t you show us, Youngjae-yah?” he whispered. “Show us how hot you think we are.”

“Fuck,” Youngjae choked out. Whimpering high in his throat. 

Jaebeom could feel him constrict around his fingers. He looked down, watching how Youngjae spilled over Jinyoung’s knuckles.

He dove in, kissing Youngjae’s neck and ears. Hearing the soft chirping sounds of Jinyoung doing the same on the other side. Feeling Youngjae’s shoulders draw up, ticklish, before releasing him.

Youngjae slumped down, his head going into Jaebeom’s lap. And Jinyoung laid himself against Youngjae’s chest. The three of them tangling together and savoring the feeling of their bare, humid skin against each other in the aftermath.

“So,” Jinyoung finally spoke up. “Is that how it’s going to be every time?”

Youngjae huffed a laugh. “God, I hope so.” 

Jaebeom smiled, feeling something in him shifting. The corners of his mouth staling as he tried to piece it apart. He blinked. Feeling a difference as stark as day and night, yet so natural that he almost couldn’t place it. As if it had been that way all along. And then he realized it. That hole. The one full of sticky black tar. The one that threatened to spill over at any minute. It wasn’t aching. It wasn’t leaking. It was just him. 

And that’s not to say that he was magically completed without a trace of what had been empty for so long, no. But it was almost as if that hole didn’t seem like something chaotic and terrifying and all-encompassing. It didn’t have that same power over him anymore. It just felt like another part of him. And he thought back to that letter from his grandmother. And how she had phrased it.

 _You have so much love in you, Jaebeom. And it pours out like blood from a wound. Without fear and without conditions and without prompting._

How she made something that always felt like a curse, sound like a blessing. And in that moment, he thought maybe the hole wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was nothing more than a place for him to keep the things that mattered most to him. And both of those things were lying on top of him, their smiles bright and their skin gleaming in the sunlight and everything about them so different yet so critical to their dynamic.

He looked down at them, his eyes growing glossy. 

Youngjae looked up, “Hyung. What’s wrong?”

Jinyoung looked up too.

And Jaebeom took in a quick breath. Feeling their eyes on him. Caring about him. And his chest never felt lighter. “I-,” he choked around his rough throat. “I didn’t know I could be this happy. This …loved.”

Jinyoung smiled. “We did,” he shrugged. “We were just waiting for you to accept it.”

And Jaebeom laughed, the tears dripping down his face. “Come here,” he grabbed for them, pulling them into his lap. He kissed both of them in turn, not caring about the tears brushing onto their cheeks. Smiling at both of them.

“What now?” Youngjae asked, swiping a stray tear from his cheek.

Jaebeom swallowed, nodding. “Let’s go home.”

\---

The pen shook in Jaebeom’s hand. He let it hover over the dotted line. Hesitating. Knowing this was a big decision. Maybe the biggest one he had made since he signed his first contract when he was sixteen. And that decision had been laced with so much ignorance and grief and displaced hope for something more in life. But this decision. This decision felt completely different.

As the pen hovered, his mind imagined. Imagined long, lazy mornings of doing nothing at all. And trying to wash the charcoal and paint stains out of shirts before deciding they looked better marred anyway. And pulling the tie off of someone’s neck and the glasses off someone’s face when they came in from a long day from the office. And cooking out of his grandmother’s recipe book, the portions already perfectly measured for three people. Going to sleep every night with a mix of warm and cool hands on him. Waking up just to do it all over again. It all made Jaebeom feel warmer and warmer. And he knew that’s what he wanted. Forever.

He signed his name. Putting the pen down and handing the papers over.

“Congratulations,” the man said with a wide smile. And for once, it didn’t seem to hold anything sinister.

Jaebeom held his breath as he rode up the elevator. He kept holding his breath as he punched the code into his door. He kept holding his breath as he came in, toeing off his shoes. 

He heard the murmur of voices as he walked into the bedroom. He saw them lying there in his bed. Scratch that. Their bed. And that breath he was holding tight in his chest just released itself. Any hint of apprehension he was holding being released along with it.

They were laying side by side, murmuring between themselves. Their faces close and their palms clasped together, fingers tangling. But when they heard him, they both sat up. Looking back at him. One pair of wondrous wide eyes and the one pair of glimmering warm ones.

“We missed you, hyung,” Youngjae whined. His dark hair messy. “You weren’t here when we woke up.” 

“Yeah. Where were you?” Jinyoung asked, Jaebeom’s shirt sitting askew on his shoulders.

And everything about it felt so right. The remnants of that hole inside of him feeling tender and soft around the edges like a fresh scar that healed over, still squishy to the touch. But safe, harmless. “I went to the leasing office downstairs,” he said, coming to sit down on the edge of the bed. He dove his hand into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it. Handing it towards them.

Jinyoung took it, Youngjae leaning his chin onto his shoulder. Their eyes reading it over. “I don’t get it,” Jinyoung shrugged. “The deed to the apartment?” They looked up at him.

Jaebeom smiled. “I bought it,” he said softly, nodding. “Bought it back from the company.”

They looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re not going re-sign,” Youngjae said, surely. Piecing Jaebeom together the way he always knew how to do.

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I’m not.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do exactly,” he huffed a laugh. “But I know what being happy is now. And I want to only do things that make me happy.”

He watched both of their smiles bloom. Youngjae’s bright and wide while Jinyoung’s was hidden in the creases of his eyes. Beautiful in how they were so different.

Jinyoung leaned over, tossing the paper to the bedside table. “Come here,” he called.

“Yeah, hyung, come here,” Youngjae giggled.

And they grabbed either one of his wrists and pulled him in. Each of them pushing his jacket off either shoulder and grabbing for the ends of his shirt to pull it over his head.

And Jaebeom laughed, feeling the press of their mouths on his neck and cheeks. Their hands smoothing over his skin and down his torso. The warm of Jinyoung and the cool of Youngjae. And there was nothing more perfect than knowing that this was the forever he wanted to sink into. Because this, the three of them together, this felt like home.

\---

**One year later.**

The music floated through the air. Crisp against the cushy foam walls that absorbed any access sound. His elbows were resting on the desk, watching as the levels moved up and down, following the different tracks as they intertwined together. The song was something soft and slow and perfectly in line with Jaebeom’s emotions. He sat back in his chair, letting it twist around his ears like a gentle kiss. Exactly to the intention. The voice singing back wasn’t his, but it felt so sweet and earnest and bright. Hearing the subtlety of the melodies weaving in and out. Conjuring feelings from him like churned up sand at the bottom of the ocean. Heightening progressively before letting go. Settling down to nothing but that lingering sweetness.

Jaebeom let the track run out. Fading into nothing. He remained in the moment before speaking. “I think that’s it,” he nodded.

From his side, Yugyeom sighed. “You don’t think it needs more?” he asked, scratching at his temple.

“No way,” Jaebeom shook his head. “It’s… it’s a love song. It needs to be simple. That’s what love feels like. When it’s right.” He looked at him, seeing the slight uneasiness lingering in his sharp shoulders. “Listen,” he sighed. “Everyone second guesses their second album. Especially after their first one was a hit. But this is good, Yugyeom. Really good. A totally different side of you but still entirely you.” He kept looking it over, admiring their work. “And when did you write these lyrics?” Jaebeom beckoned towards the computer. “They’re beautiful.”

Yugyeom’s neck started blooming shades of pink that worked up to his ears. “I-I wrote them last night,” he stuttered. “I’m not too sure about them. They just kind of… came to me in the moment.”

Jaebeom hummed. “Well if you don’t like them, we don’t have to use them,” he offered. “It’s your choice what makes the final cut.”

Yugyeom swallowed, “No, hyung. I like it,” he nodded, emphatically. “I want it on the album.”

“You sure?” Jaebeom raised his eyebrows. “Remember what I say.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. You help me curate options, but I make the decisions.” Reciting it like he’d heard it a million times. “Are we done then? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Jaebeom looked at his watch. “Fuck,” he said, sitting up quickly when he saw the time. He nodded to Yugyeom. “Thank you for that.” He rushed up from his chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Keep writing down those lyrics. You’re on a roll.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, hyung!” Yugyeom smiled, waving him away.

Jaebeom rushed out of the studio, turning down the narrow hallway lined with offices.

“Jaebeom!” someone called for him.

Jaebeom backed up, slotting into the doorway of Mark’s office. “Yes?” he answered.

“Hey,” Mark asked, sitting back in his desk chair. “We need to sit down soon and go through those new candidates for signing.”

“I can make time later this week,” Jaebeom nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “How many are there this time around?”

Mark smiled. Pausing to heighten the anticipation. “Seventy-six,” he grinned. “And that’s after the first round of cuts.”

“Wow,” Jaebeom widened his eyes.

Mark shrugged. “After the success of Yugyeom’s first record, people are taking notice of our little entertainment company. They want a chance to work with JB, the legendary idol turned producer.”

Jaebeom leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms and smirking. “Don’t flatter me, hyung,” he scoffed. “And quit using that name. I can’t even use it now because the old company owned it under my contract.”

“Probably for the best,” Mark twisted his face, sarcastic. “You really aren’t cool enough to pull it off.”

“Hey, now,” Jaebeom narrowed his eyes. “Don’t forget, I’m the one who poached you and asked you to run this company with me. Don’t bite the hand that feeds, hyung.”

“Speaking of feeding,” Mark looked to the clock. “You gotta go.”

“Damn it,” Jaebeom looked at his watch again. He looked back, saluting, “I’ll see you, hyung!”

He jogged down the hallway, almost reaching the elevators before he heard it.

“Hyung, hyung!” an accented voice was growing louder. The quickened clack of dress shoes against the floor. “Waitwaitwait!”

Jaebeom stopped short, turning, “Bammie, come on. I’m trying to get out of here. You know I have somewhere to be.”

“I just wanted to hand these off to you,” he handed him a file folder. “It’s the mockups for the social media teasers. Can you have Youngjae-hyung look them over to make sure they match up with what he’s doing with the album artwork? If so, we can schedule the shoot for next week. And then everything can be ready for once you guys finish recording.”

Jaebeom opened the folder, looking over the templates and graphics. “Did you run these by Yugyeom?”

“Yeah. We came up with the concepts last night at his place,” Bambam nodded.

Jaebeom looked up at him, slowly. Connecting the dots. Raising his eyebrows subtly.

Bambam rolled his eyes. “Hyung, please,” he smiled, running a hand through his now pastel pink hair.

Jaebeom raised his shoulders, smiling wide. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” Bambam’s cheeks round with embarrassment.

Jaebeom choked around a laugh. He placed a hand to Bambam’s shoulder, nodding. “He’s a fine young man, Bam-“

“Stopstopstop,” Bambam rushed to say. Knocking away Jaebeom’s touch. Hands going to cover his face. “I’m not asking for your blessing. We aren’t having this talk.” He looked back at him, gasping. “Hyung. Don’t you need to go?”

Jaebeom felt the slight panic turn his stomach. “Ah yes,” he waved to him, clutching the folder against his chest as he jogged down the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bammie!”

When he got down to the main road, he stood at the curb, ready to hail a taxi. A bus passed by. A familiar face plastered against the side. ‘Jackson Wang. Olympic Gymnastics Arena.’ The man’s handsome profile perfectly photoshopped as it advertised his upcoming concert. And Jaebeom smiled. Happy for Jackson’s recent international success even if they weren’t crossing paths anymore. Because even if Jackson wasn’t meant to be in his life, he was still worthy of his own version of happiness.

He hailed a taxi, ordering them to drive north, up into the hills. The sun was entirely set now. The autumn days getting shorter and chillier. And as he crossed the bridge, the sky was navy blue to the east and warm saffron to the west. Reminding him of that mix of cool and warm that he cherished so much.

He pulled up in front of an indiscriminate building. Climbing up the stairs with a lightness in his step. The same one that always seemed to follow him home but this time even stronger. He punched in the code, opening it wide. Startled when he was met with a darkened room.

His eyes took a moment to adjust. From the studio’s expansive windows, he could see how the dirty rooftop lights glowed like lanterns, hazing the navy blue cityscape. Inside the studio, the lights were off. But there were candles scattered along the cement floor, flickering and warming the space with their soft orange light. 

“Surprise!” a voice shouted. A body collapsing into him, cool hands draping around his neck. Youngjae’s bright eyes glowed in the candlelight.

“Baby,” Jaebeom gasped. “What is all of this?” His hand pulling around the boy’s waist instinctively as he admired the scene.

Youngjae leaned up and kissed him softly. Soft and familiar. His smile stretching wide. “Just wanted to make tonight special.”

Jaebeom felt that rush that never lost its strength. He took in a deep breath, savoring it. “Oh,” he rushed. He pulled the folder from under his arm. “These are for you. From Bambam.”

“Hmmm,” Youngjae hummed. “I’ve been looking forward to these.” He opened the folder, piecing through the pages in the low light. “You need to get me the new songs so I can start mocking up some ideas for the artwork.”

Jaebeom furrowed his brows. “Did you know they are getting together? Yugyeom and Bambam?”

“Of course,” Youngjae scoffed, not looking up from the folder. “I was the one who pushed Bam to go for it. He’s had that crush for years. He just thought it was hopeless cause he figured Yugyeom only had eyes for his favorite idol. But celebrity worship isn’t quite the same as love, is it? So, I just gave him some encouragement.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. Because of course Youngjae could read them from a mile away before Jaebeom had been able to put it together. “Well, wait till you hear Yugyeom’s love songs. They are downright cavity inducing.”

“So are the visual concepts,” Youngjae hummed, pointing to the pages. “Florals. Pastels. Thanks to Bambam it’s going to be a soft pink dream.”

Jaebeom smiled. “Speaking of,” he asked. “Where’s Jinyoung?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jinyoung rushed in. “Sorry, I was just finishing up.” He hugged his strong arms around Jaebeom, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth.

Jaebeom smiled against it, pulling away to mutter against his mouth. “And how was your day, Dr. Park?”

Jinyoung shrugged, looking into his face. “Good,” he smiled smugly. “I have a new patient. I’m under oath. But it’s a famous actor that you might know.” He winked.

“You going to fall in love with him, too?” Jaebeom smirked.

“Nah,” he smiled. “I think I got my hands full already,” he felt his hands around Jaebeom’s backside.

Jaebeom laughed, hips jolting towards him at the touch. “What were you finishing up?”

Jinyoung smiled, “Come see.” He grabbed his hand, leading him further into the studio.

Jaebeom’s eyes went to the worktable. But instead of its usual mess of supplies and materials, it had been cleared except for a few clusters of pillar candles. And from where they shined, Jaebeom could see the plates laid out. Three of them, food sitting prettily on top. Two plates were accompanied by glasses of red wine while Jaebeom’s was in the middle, a glass of cider to the side.

“You cooked this?” Jaebeom’s eyes went wide, looking between them.

Jinyoung hissed, tilting his head to the side. “I mean,” he started. “Youngjae ordered it. I plated it. That’s like cooking, right?”

Jaebeom laughed, coming forward to take a seat on the middle stool by his plate. “How did you both even function before me?”

“We have no idea,” Youngjae laughed, taking his seat.

Jinyoung sat down, picking up his wine glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Jaebeom and Youngjae raised their glasses in unison.

Jinyoung cleared his throat. “Here’s to the person who opened up our world. The one who binds us and completes us, who continues to prove that he’s the hardworking, determined, and loving man we fell in love with. We couldn’t imagine our lives without you.”

Jaebeom felt the smile growing on his face. His stomach fluttering at the words.

“Although a traditional anniversary like me and Youngjae’s doesn’t quite fit, we can start a new tradition. And so, today marks the first night we spent all together. And from there, we’ve never looked back. And I know speak for Youngjae when I say that this past year has made us so unimaginably happy. And it makes us even more excited to see what forever holds. For all of us, together. The way it’s supposed to be,” Jinyoung’s eyes glimmered in the candlelight. “And that was all because of you. So tonight, we celebrate you, Jaebeom.” He smiled all the way to his eyes. “Happy anniversary. We love you more than words can describe,” he said, clinking his glass against theirs.

“Happy anniversary,” Youngjae cheered. “We love you.”

They drank, Jaebeom watching the red wine go down their throats. And although he didn’t drink anymore, he couldn’t resist thinking about the way it would taste on them later.

“Thank you,” Jaebeom smiled. “I love you both so much. This all looks amazing.”

“Then, let’s eat,” Youngjae clapped.

They ate their dinner, talking about Youngjae’s upcoming exhibition and Jaebeom’s new talent recruits and Jinyoung’s growing clientele. And about the smaller things too. Youngjae and Jinyoung’s birthdays coming up. The bigger apartment they had been looking to move into. Their vacation they were planning for the holidays. All the mundane details of everyday life that were only made special by having each other.

Jinyoung brought out dessert for them. A fudgy chocolate cake that was fresh from the bakery down the street. And Youngjae fed it into Jaebeom’s mouth, bursting into giggles when he nearly missed. “You got chocolate all over,” Youngjae laughed, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

Jaebeom looked up, wide eyed. “Where?”

“Here,” Jinyoung ducked in, running his tongue deftly across the corner of his mouth.

Jaebeom giggled, pulling away though he really wished to chase it. He turned to Youngjae, “did he get it?”

“Not quite,” Youngjae smiled, leaning in and grabbing Jaebeom’s chin. He pulled it towards him, licking the remnants before kissing him. 

Jaebeom smiled against his lips and let his tongue run over Youngjae’s to capture that flavor of chocolate and red wine. He felt something slick sliding across his neck. He pulled away, seeing Youngjae’s frosting covered fingers wiggling mischievously.

“Baby,” he whined, forcing a frustrated sigh through his smile.

“I’ll get it,” Jinyoung scooted towards him, gripping his jaw in one hand and his neck in the other. He craned his face away to gain access, lapping his tongue against the smear.

Jaebeom shuddered, watching Youngjae put those frosting covered fingers in his mouth and suck a bit too generously on them. Feeling the sensation of Jinyoung’s teeth sinking in that made him gasp as the heat rushed over him. He pulled away, moving quick to capture Jinyoung’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Tasting that same mix of sweet and bitter on his mouth and thinking it tasted just as amazing.

Jaebeom felt Youngjae’s hands fist into his shirt and pull him. “Come on, hyung.”

Jaebeom stumbled off his seat, moving backwards as Youngjae pulled and Jinyoung pushed. They pushed him up against the window and the chill of the glass through his shirt sent a shiver down him. Always that mix of warm and cool.

Jinyoung returned to his mouth while Youngjae’s hand started to palm against his jeans. And by then, they’d gotten it down to a system. How exactly to share each other. How to communicate without words.

Jinyoung’s mouth went down to his neck and Youngjae’s went to his ear, feeling their breaths clouding his thoughts.

Jaebeom panted, turning his head enough to meet Youngjae’s eyes. “I love you, Youngjae.”

“I love you too, hyung,” the boy smiled. 

Jaebeom looked to the other side, fixing his gaze on Jinyoung. “I love you, Jinyoung.”

“And I love you,” Jinyoung nodded. “Now, shut up and let us show you.”

And Jaebeom felt so warm everywhere as they moved around him with a shared synchronicity. And it was more than just their hands or their mouths on him. It was about that feeling of wholeness they gave him. Filling in all the gaps. Making sense of him. Like every small quirk of his felt meaningful in the way it played between theirs. Even the bad ones. Even his stubbornness and his sensitivity felt purposeful against Youngjae’s strength and Jinyoung’s wit. The highs and lows of each of them interlocking to make something superior. Something that started so unintentionally but bloomed into something none of them could live without. Something completely unique and beautiful and undeniably them. And that was the best part. That it was them. And it would never be one of them, or even two of them, ever again. It would always be three. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Can't believe we are at the end of Super Fade!!
> 
> This story was so much fun to write. It was originally inspired by three things.  
> 1\. [The idea of doing a 2youngjae with pre-established 2young instead of the usual pre-established JJP](https://twitter.com/nichinbi/status/1178911505653198848?s=20)  
> 2\. [190819 Jaebeom and Youngjae who I immediately saw as rockstar on the mend and reason for getting sober](https://twitter.com/i/status/1163309900086296577)  
> 3\. [Super Fade by Fall Out Boy](https://youtu.be/64eM2EJb3Wk)
> 
> From that, we've gotten a whirlwind of an OT3 journey that I have throughly enjoyed taking you on. Thank you so much to everyone who left comments, tweeted me, messaged me, or left kudos. I say it all the time but the discourse that comes from writing stories is really what fuels me to keep writing. Sharing these characters and having people come to understand their perspectives is truly the best feeling ever.
> 
> Again, thank you so much! And as always, come yell at me on Twitter: [@oceans4jinyoung](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung)  
> 


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